Hiding In Your Shadow
by PHLover213
Summary: "Do you love me?" she asked quickly. He sighed, defeated. "Yes, Christine, I do." . . . Good old ExC fluff and romance with a plot. Erik is a reclusive CEO; Christine is a back-up singer to Carlotta Giudicelli. Will they be happy with each other?
1. Infatuation

**Hey there everybody! This fic will have a better name soon!**

**Enjoy!**

**xxxx**

The arena was buzzing with excitement. Any second now the great Carlotta Giudicelli was to take the stage and present the beautiful Jewel Song from Faust. In the past three years she had become the world's leading soprano. Everybody loved her looks, her charm, her voice.

Everyone, that is, except for a disgruntled CEO. He sat in his box with the glass front panel, watching towards the bottom of the arena where, in a moment, the bane of his existence would force him through yet another painful aria and force a contrived, terrible compliment from him. It usually ran along the lines of "Well, you weren't quite so off-pitch tonight!"

It was more a veiled insult than anything else. And it kept her striving for perfection, therefore keeping him . . . well, he was never _really happy_, was he? No. He had too much to brood on and be upset over. As the red-headed soprano in an emerald green dress took the stage and the crowd roared – he remembered hearing Pavarotti quoted as saying he wanted to bring "opera to the masses"; he thought Ms Giudicelli was the same – he groaned. She was what was quickly and increasingly becoming known as a "popera" artist. He very much felt like blowing his own brains out.

"Mr Amadeus?" a voice crackled into his earpiece.

"Johnson! It had better be bloody important! You know what I'm like when I miss even a _second_ of my favourite artist's truly _stellar_ performance." he said dryly, allowing a sardonic smirk to pass over his face. Nobody could see him in his darkened box, so what the Hell did it matter?

"Funny as always, sir." The other man coughed. "She said before she went on that she wants to meet with you."

"Ah. Why's that exactly?" he snapped rather coldly in reply.

"She has a problem with one of her back-up vocalists."

"Which one?" he asked, his eyes drifting to the stage. In front of it stood a few thousand people, necessitating the ground to be re-pitched when the concert run was over. The pavilions were also packed completely, every seat full. He'd make hundreds of thousands from this concert, but he didn't care.

"Ah . . . well, she's supposed to be next to the blonde girl. She's a no-show! Won't be on till the second set."

"So this girl is tardy _and_ upsetting our precious prima donna?"

The man on the other end laughed nervously. "Please, Mr Amadeus, give the girl a chance. I have actually spoken to her, and . . . she needs this."

"And it will upset Ms Giudicelli if she stays?"

"Yeah, sir, it'll drive her nuts."

"I always wonder why you don't work in New York. Such a rat you can be. Well, tell this chit to get onstage as soon as humanly possible, do you understand me?" he put on his most soothing, honey-sweet voice, but tinged it with venom.

"Yes sir, I do. Consider it done."

The call ended, and he languorously let his eyes drift back to the stage. As he did, a girl walked sheepishly, surreptitiously onto the stage. Nobody noticed, however, as Carlotta's voice was soaring – he thought _clawing_ might be a more appropriate term – to an unnaturally high note. But he noticed. She was perfect. Her cascades of beautiful brown hair accentuated a pretty face and her slim frame made him think of a fairy. He smiled with delight simply at the sight of her.

"Zoom on the second singer." he said into a small microphone, and a screen in front of him focussed in on her face. She had beautiful azure eyes rimmed with long lashes, and her falsely red lips were pulled into a pretty half-smile. Her skin was pale, but not freckled at all. She looked like a porcelain doll. "What's her name?" he asked himself.

"Christine Daaé." returned a voice, crackling through a faulty connection. He looked onto a small screen and leaned back into the shadows as a face appeared on it. It was his personal assistant, Saleel. "She's been with the company since last year."

"She's beautiful." he breathed.

"Yeah. Young too, no boyfriends or anything. But the sponsor is two seconds and one of those gorgeous smiles from calling dibs on her."

He clutched at his heart on a strange instinct. "Y- you mean . . . de Chagny? Raoul de Chagny?"

"The same, sir." Saleel paused and gulped. "It's said they're friends from way back."

"Have him informed that if he tries anything he'll have his legs broken." he said dismissively.

"M- M- Mr Amadeus?"

"What do I PAY you for?" he roared, and the assistant shrank from the camera on his end. Mr Amadeus was _always_ a jerk when he got possessive. "Go have it done . . . _now_."

"Yes, sir. Bye, sir."

Without a reply, he pressed a button, ending the call. He turned his attention back to the screen. Christine Daaé was struggling with a high note. He noticed if perhaps she stood a little straighter, she could reach it. Tentatively, his thin hands suddenly shaking, he reached for a notepad in a desk, and began to take notes on her performance.

When the show was over, he leaned back from the light of the lamp on his desk and rubbed his hand. Three hours he'd been writing and he had nearly completely filled the pad with notes on the girl's performance. In a few spots he noticed random tangents like "Has dimples when she smiles" and "Smiled at Pie Jesu".

He frowned. Why would anybody smile at Carlotta Giudicelli's rendition of any song, and why on Earth did he write it down?

Annoyed, he pulled on his mask and slowly moved towards the door. He opened it and gasped as the redhead leading lady wrapped her arms around him.

"What in God's name are you doing, Giudicelli?"

"Oh, I . . ." she stepped back and vivaciously flicked her hair over her shoulder as recovery. "An excellent-a show tonight, Mr Amadeeus?" he cringed inwardly. Her pronunciation of that name made his toes curl. But it was to be expected of a Spanish diva after all. "Did I not-a do well?"

"Your vibrato needs work." he said absently. "One of my assistants said that you had a problem with a singer."

"Ah, yes-a! The little brunette. Pretty, no?"

"I suppose . . ." He thought honestly that she was stunning. "So, what is wrong with that?"

"No-a, that's not all! She is-a . . . _marginally talented_, no?"

He remembered the notes he made and scratched his temple in an attempt to cover the colour in his face. "Yes."

"So-a, _what if she steals-a my limelight?_ This, we agree, Mr Amadeeus, cannot-a 'appen."

"I suppose you're right. Where is she? I'll speak to her."

His heart leapt at the thought.

"Down thee 'all-a! But, Mr Amadeeus, she'll get an ego-a boost from speaking to the manager."

"I think you mean your ego shall be deflated a mite. But that's not a bad thing. Now, get out of my sight before I get angry."

"Why, the little . . ."

He walked off in the direction of her dressing room before he could hear the insult. He paused outside the door and read her name on the piece of paper attached. His finger traced each line and curl of it, committing it to memory. It was beautiful. What would it be like, he wondered, to touch that lily-white skin? What would it be like to kiss those beautiful lips?

He gathered his thoughts and lifted a fist, giving two curt knocks and waiting, his hands shaking increasingly.

After a moment there came a beautiful voice, a voice he'd been paying attention to for hours yet wasn't sick of. It was sweet and lovely and calm. He gulped. "Come in!"

**xxxx**

**Ugh, don't you HATE cliff hangers? I do. But they're so much fun!**

**Okay, another AU. I know, I know. But this is with an Erik not as dark or obsessive or creepy as The Killer's Reverie. And when I have writer's block from one (which I am suffering severely from ATM) I can write for the other! Yay!**

**Tell me what you think. If this idea is total crap, please inform me. If you like it, which is the preferred option, let me know!**

**See you next time?**


	2. Just a Handshake

**Hey! 7 people on alerts! Great . . . but I can do better, right?**

**Enjoy.**

**xxxx**

_**As I see it you can let it get you down or you can rise above the situation that life presents you with and forget about all the bad stuff. I've had opportunities to forget and God knows I've tried. But every battle scar, every little thing that's happened to me in the past is something that makes me who I am. I can't deny it. I can't deny the scar on my side. It shows that I survived something. I survived an abusive childhood, and I'm here to tell the story.**_

**She always wanted to be a singer.**

_**Music has always flowed through my veins like an addictive poison, like a drug! Like, I mean . . . it's always there and I can't think of my life without it. It'd be bleak, not worth living. The only thing of worth that Dad ever gave me – bar this scar right here – was music. When we had music he was relaxed. He didn't get angry, and I learnt that music was a sort of Paradise.**_

**We asked her what she thought of Ms Carlotta Giudicelli.**

_**Oh . . . she's kind of okay. She is, though, aloof. I mean, I don't talk to her a lot. I know you probably want gossip about her, but I don't have anything bad to say about her. I more talk with the band. They're good though. Like, Anatole, he's the bassist, is a good guy. I get along with him, and the other guys . . . yeah. Carlotta's usually busy. But she's very . . . talented . . .**_

**As always with Shadow News, we leave our interviewee with the question: Romantically interested in anyone at the moment?**

_**No. I've heard rumours about myself.**_

**Raoul de Chagny?**

_**Yeah, but I mean . . .**_

**xxxx**

Erik turned off the television at that point. The week before he had moved away from Christine's door before she answered. He had found himself, for the first time in a long time, completely terrified; he was sweaty-palmed, light-headed in love!

No, _infatuated_! Nothing more . . .

He had watched her intently every night for a week now and taken different notes every night, but they were getting less impersonal and more admiring each time.

The second night it was: _Seems intimidated by Giudicelli – remedy this situation_.

The third it was: _Eyes sparkle at The Prayer_, and he added affectionately, _she has terrible taste in music_.

And the seventh, after watching Shadow News's report, he wrote: _Find her father and kill him. One day I will hold her, I swear it, and press my fingers and my lips to that scar she spoke about, and take all of her pain away . . ._

He stopped and tore up that note, throwing it in the wastepaper basket then tossing in a lit match. It was gone within a few seconds. He groaned furiously and looked back at the camera trained on her face. The fact that she was unaware that every single little movement was visible to him somehow made her all the more beautiful.

Christine glanced up at the darkened box. She'd only heard whispers about Mr Amadeus, except when she was signed at X Productions and she was told explicitly that should she ever meet the CEO Mr Amadeus she could never call him by his first name – she noted that they didn't tell her his name, and many hours of internet research were also fruitless.

But one of the whispers she had heard was that that was _his_ box.

Meg told her once, after the show.

"Alright-a! You 'ave been a wunterfool audience-a," she paused and drooped dramatically as the audience screeched. Christine shared a glance with Meg. Everybody – except her band – loved her, and her "cute" accent. "But your-a," she rolled her R's on her tongue, annoyingly, "Carlotta, she grows tired! I shall-a see you again soon, my-a lovely-a fans!"

And the stage went black. Carlotta fled and the band, orchestra and back-up singers languidly left, chatting and laughing amidst the roar of the crowds as they battled against each other to get to the toilets and food stalls. Christine and Meg talked with each other as two of the band members, Anatole and Carl, walked towards them.

"You girls wanna get a drink after the show?" Carl asked, winking at Meg.

"No! Food!" Meg whined.

"Okay. You coming, Chris?" Carl grinned. Christine hesitated, a movement that would change her life.

They turned the corner.

"Mr Amadeeus! You are-a imposseeble!"

The four musicians stopped in their tracks at the sight of a man wearing a perfect black suit and a flawless white mask that covered the right side of his face. He was standing across the corridor from the redheaded diva.

"Not so much as you, Giudicelli." he said and looked up at the people near him. He cursed under his breath – did Christine have to be standing right there? Oh, she saved him from slapping Carlotta across the face, but . . . _why_ did she have to see him? And why was she looking at him with that strange look of puzzlement?

"Ah, Amadeeus 'as nothing to say in front of an audience-a!" Carlotta cackled unpleasantly.

"I am warning you, Giudicelli . . ." he growled angrily.

"Ha, ha! I win-a thees round!" Carlotta grinned from ear to ear, then looked at the stunned musicians. "What are-a _you_ looking at? Go to-a . . . your _joint_ rooms and out of-a my sight-a!"

"_Giudicelli_." Erik said quietly, venom evident in his voice. Carlotta shot him an evil glare and stalked off to her dressing room. He glanced at the small group. "Excuse me. How rude of me." he bowed slightly, trying not to smile _too_ broadly at Christine's adorable confusion. "I believe you know me as Mr Amadeus."

Carl and Anatole fought back the urge to prostrate themselves at the other man's feet.

"Good to meet you, sir – I mean, it's a pleasure, a joy, a privilege, I . . ." Carl began.

"Idiot." Meg said quietly. Carl frowned at her.

"Nice to meet you too, Carl _Orange_. Odd choice of stage-name." Yes, for Christine, Erik would be a kind person. He'd talk to everyone on earth.

Everyone except Raoul de Chagny. They knew each other before he was rich and before she was famous – so they had a lifelong bond! He would not allow such competition. The leg-breaking threat still stood.

"Yeah, well." Carl smiled charmingly. He was well-built and had bright orange hair – hence the name.

"I'm Meg!" Meg chirped, offering her hand to Erik. He tilted his head and then shook it awkwardly. She smiled, seemingly satisfied with that. "This is Christine."

Unwittingly, she held out her hand in the same manner. Erik looked at it and he shook her hand too, but . . . he realised that he was close enough to touch her flesh; a few steps closer and he could kiss her . . . "Yeah, like Meg said . . . it's great to meet you. We hear so little, and-"

Her eyes met his, and that was when she froze.

As they stared, the world stood still.

Confused, she wrenched her hand away from him and smiled tolerantly. "Yeah. Um . . . it's an honour."

"The honour is all mine, Miss Christine Daaé." he replied quietly.

"I'm Anatole!" said the third man, grinning from ear to ear, trying to break the awkward moment. He wrapped an arm around Christine's shoulders and took her a step so that they could escape easily. "C'mon, Chris, let's get some water before we have to go back on!"

And they left Erik standing alone. He turned to go, but then glanced at the spot she had been standing.

He was very close to worshipping the ground she walked on.

Feeling pathetic, he walked away. It was _just_ a handshake.

But deep down he knew it would grow to be more.

**xxxx**

**Yep, second chapter. Pretty short, I know, but . . . this is a project on the back-burner at the moment.**

**Also, this is ALW Erik (NOT Gerik, I have to stress. Think more John Cudia/Michael Crawford-ish) because I haven't done a phic with this one as yet (well I have, but I deleted it for bad quality).**

**Ah, yes. While I am here, Epic Insanity (and I KNOW you're reading this), my Erik will always win.**

**Now I'm rambling.**

**See you next time, and don't forget to review!**


	3. Je Suis Enchanté

**For Killer's Reverie readers, I am having MASSIVE writer's block at the moment. Review and I will be more inclined to update faster.**

**It's true.**

**Enjoy.**

**xxxx**

Glasses clinked. The food that Meg had claimed so desperately to need before had been replaced with a cocktail. She grinned and took a huge gulp. "Ugh, I need to relax."

"Oh, yeah," Carl said with a mischievous grin. "'Cause working your dream job is so incredibly stressful."

"With Carlotta it is."

All four of them laughed.

"So," Anatole said, waiting for his companions to look at him before he continued. "Today was pretty monumental. We met Mr Amadeus!"

"Yeah, apparently he's a hermit usually."

Meg glanced at Christine and smiled. She had told her a few times about the tinted glass surveillance box. And she knew because of her mother, an exec high up somewhere at X Productions. "Well, he seemed . . . nice." Christine said with her usual vague, knowing smile.

"He was givin' you googly eyes!" Anatole announced with a stupid grin. Christine shot a look at him. "Really though, he was like, 'The pleasure's all mine, Miss Christine Daaé, _je suis enchanté_,'" Anatole took on a low, deep drawl, a failed parody of Mr Amadeus's perfect voice, "And _Meg_ didn't get that treatment."

"Because Meg is disgusting." Carl interjected.

"You say that 'cause you love her." Christine smiled and playfully punched his arm.

"What?" he scoffed. "What, what, what? Me, love _Meg_? No, no, _NO_, Miss Christine Daaé . . ."

He was cut off by her phone ringing. She grabbed it and walked towards the exit of the small pub they were sitting in. She answered it.

"_Hey, Chrissie! It's Raoul!_"

She smiled. Raoul de Chagny was her best friend in the world. "What's up?"

"_How was the concert tonight? I saw your interview on Shadow earlier . . . why do they all think we're _together_? It's kind of strange . . ._"

"It was good." she said with a sigh. "I met . . . the fabled Mr Amadeus – and I think everyone thinks we're together 'cause we hug in public."

Raoul laughed on the other end, a golden, happy sound. "_Yeah, I s'pose . . . Amadeus? You met him? Did he try to claw your eyes out . . . or, like, propose or something?_"

Christine's brow furrowed. "What are you talking about?"

"_I got a letter from his assistant Saleel Aghamiri that if I ever put the moves out on you, I will get my legs broken with a lead-pipe. Dreadfully pleasant business, not to mention a great thing to say to a sponsor._"

"Oh." Christine could only muster that. Why would somebody threaten Raoul with that? He'd done nothing wrong! And why in particular reference to her? She only met Mr Amadeus that evening. "When . . . when did you get it?"

"_Geez . . . like, on Tuesday?_"

It was Monday.

"Huh. Weird."

"_Yeah. Anyway, I called because I was wondering if you're busy on Saturday. Being the incredible best friend that I am,_" Christine smiled and scoffed. "_I thought that you would like to go shopping for your birthday. God knows I don't know what the Hell to get for you. Another red scarf?_"

"Well, you get me that every year and you have since we were twelve." she paused and passed a hand over her eyes. "What about your player image? We've been seen together quite a few times now."

Raoul put on a terrible accent. "_Yeah, but listen here, kid. I don'ts cares about my image, see? S'all about my doll-face Chrissie. Now is she gunna make me beg for 'er affections, or what?_"

"I'll come if you stop talking like that." she laughed.

"_Not all of us can have perfect voices, Miss Daaé!_" Raoul paused and chuckled._ "Awesome. I'll see you at your place at eleven on Saturday morning. Bye!_"

"See you then, Raoul." she grinned as she hung up and walked back into the bar.

She didn't see the dark figure lingering nearby, watching her very carefully. The figure's brow furrowed and he felt a need to follow her. She could run into trouble. He decided something a little less crippling to her opinion of him would be checking the background of the people she was with. Meg Giry was riding on her mother's accomplishments; he knew that. Antoinette Giry was a middle-management type with sharp features and long straight black hair. She always wore immaculate designer women's suits, and though Meg had talent, she would never make it on her own.

Anatole Garron was a talented performer and when he had solos he used them. He knew how to work an audience, but Erik knew nothing of his history with women. Even worse than the thought of losing Christine – for in his warped mind, she was already his – was the thought that somebody should hurt her. Her pain was his.

And that Carl fellow – he was too odd for Christine to ever consider him, he thought, before remembering his own predicament – seemed to be interested in Antoinette's daughter too much to pay her any mind as any more than a friend.

Sometimes friends fall in love.

No, Christine would not do that!

He clenched his fists. Being in public wasn't advisable, especially with all the affairs of years past. His car was around the corner with a driver waiting. He could leave any second.

So why the Hell wasn't he?

**xxxx**

Christine and Raoul smiled at each other and she kissed his cheek.

"How've you been?" she asked, friendly.

"Ugh, tired. And avoiding threats from crazy reclusive business impresarios. You know, a day in the life of Raoul de Chagny!"

She smiled. "I don't know what's going on." she said honestly.

"Don't let it worry you. Even if you_ do_ get the reputation of a gold-digger for going after me _and_ Mr Amadeus at the same time. I'm sure it's nothing; he's just trying to make sure that his artistes aren't screwing around with rich guys when they should be singing."

"Your ego is tiny as always." Christine giggled, before adding slyly: "And that's not all that's tiny."

"Hey!" he barked, tickling her ribs briefly. "You're _funny_." he lowered his eyelids, pretending to be angry. "Oh. Paparazzi."

He smiled tolerantly and slipped on his sunglasses and Christine simply glanced away. A photographer approached them and shamelessly aimed his camera at them. Christine thought its constant snap sounded predatory.

"Y'know," Raoul said through gritted teeth, relaxing when the photographer was satisfied and left, "I could get you, like, a ring, and _really_ piss off Mr Amadeus. That'd be funny."

"Who'd visit you in hospital?" Christine asked in jest, smiling.

"Yeah, I s'pose." Raoul smiled. "Still, I don't think he'd do anything if you asked him very nicely not to."

"I've spoken to the man once."

"Whatever."

**xxxx**

_**In what is becoming one of the most talked-about relationships in the **_**WORLD**_** at the moment, businessman Raoul de Chagny and the great Carlotta Giudicelli's backing vocalist, Christine Daaé were spotted outside a jeweller's . . . do we hear wedding bells? Shadow Entertainment's interview with the singer earlier this week quoted her as saying: "We get along . . . if I had to I'd definitely see myself living with him." Could it be that the devious Miss Daaé is hinting at this relationship?**_

_**Tasha Skinner, OMG Magazine**_

Erik tore up the magazine page. Why did he keep doing these things? He was only hurting himself! But damn it if that smile on her face wasn't the most intoxicating thing he'd ever seen.

He quickly added "Tasha Skinner" to the list of people that he was going to kill.

"_Amadeeus_!"

He rolled his eyes and pressed the button on the intercom sitting on his desk.

"Saleel, tell the old crone I'm busy."

"_Bastardo__! I must-a be seen-a immediat-e-ly!_" crackled Carlotta's voice.

Erik gripped the magazine in his hand and shoved it into his desk. He was not in the mood for Carlotta bloody Giudicelli and her diva problems. If she had a problem with Christine, it was _her_ problem, and _not_ Christine's. As much as he'd never admit it, he was already beginning to idolise her.

"For the love of God, tell her I'm busy!"

He gave a satisfied smirk as he heard her heavy footsteps outside as she shamelessly shouted a few curses in Spanish. He leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Christine was there, smiling at him . . . and he was free of his mask . . .

"_Mr Amadeus_ . . ." came a nervous, tremulous voice.

"I'll fire you, Saleel, if it's not important!" Erik barked.

"_Raoul de Chagny is here to see you, sir_."

**xxxx**

**Again ending on a cliff-hanger. I imagine that you guys hate me. But yeah.**

**Could you review? It makes me very happy to check my email and see [Review Alert] there.**

**Make me happy? I had to go to the dentist today . . .**

**Also, I am so excited that I just had to tell you guys. I'm starting work on a collaboration with BleedingHeartConservative. It's not an AU, and it fully follows the canon! WOW. It'll be posted on my account (it's meant to be funny . . .), so look out for it! :)**

**See you next time!**


	4. An Inconsquential Meeting

**Hey!**

**xxxx**

Erik sat bolt upright. "Raoul de Chagny?" he repeated incredulously.

"_Yes, sir, he's standing right here._"

He cursed under his breath. Perhaps he'd kill that . . . _boy_ while he was in there. "Oh, God . . . let him in, I suppose."

Raoul smiled triumphantly on the other side of the door. As he saw it, he was just protecting Christine. And she deserved that. She was a great girl and if Mr Amadeus had even the slightest inclination towards hurting her, then Raoul was going to kill him.

"Mr Amadeus will see you." said Saleel, the assistant, carelessly. Raoul nodded and walked towards the huge black door, opening it. Inside there was dim artificial light, but all the windows seemed blacked out with shutters.

"Amadeus?" he asked as the door closed.

Erik grunted.

"Uh . . . I'm here to talk about Christine." Raoul looked at him with guarded fascination. He seemed to be perfectly composed and relaxed. "But before you think that-"

"Shut up, de Chagny."

Raoul sat down casually.

Erik inclined his head to the right ever so slightly. "What is your business here?"

Raoul withdrew a crumpled piece of paper from the pocket of his jacket and read aloud. "_Mr de Chagny, be informed that should you ever pursue a romantic interest in Miss Christine Daaé, you will have your legs broken with one or several hard and blunt objects; it will not be pleasant. Consider yourself duly warned. Sincerely, Saleel Aghamiri, assistant to Mr Amadeus, X Productions._" Raoul glanced up at the masked man from the paper. "Now, I'm not one to draw hasty conclusions, but it seems to me in this letter there is some undue antipathy."

He smirked.

Erik felt his fists clench.

"What makes you think that, de Chagny? You're annoying as Hell, and . . ."

"I can't help but notice that ripped magazine on the floor." Raoul said, heedlessly getting up to retrieve a particular piece of glossy paper from the floor. He looked at it. "And I can't help but notice you've ripped my face in half."

He turned the paper to reveal, as he'd said, half his face from OMG Magazine. "Now, Mr Amadeus, why do this? I can completely destroy your show and withdraw all support from my company in the future . . ."

"Get out."

Raoul glanced at Erik. "So you _are_ madly in love with her, then?"

"I _said_ get out, you snivelling piece of slime."

Raoul looked almost surprised before he headed for the door. He stopped with his hand on the knob and turned back. "Y'know, Mr Amadeus, I love Christine – don't look so murderous; I don't mean it like that – I love her, and if _you_ try anything on her . . . I won't be the only one with broken . . . _appendages_."

And he left.

Erik glared. The audacity of that _boy_ was staggering! Didn't he know that Erik could destroy him in seconds? Erik supposed that he didn't. If he weren't so absorbed by Christine and what she thought of him, he'd have already killed him.

"Bloody businesspeople." he concluded, biting his lip harshly and tasting blood. "I'll _kill_ that _child_ one day."

**xxxx**

"I canno' work-a in-a these conditions!" Carlotta cried. Why they were rehearsing – again – nobody could say exactly. But Christine and Meg were hardly focussed. They chatted with each other and Meg was constantly shooting a glance at Carl.

"What is it?" Christine asked while Carlotta struggled with some a cappella cadenza. It seemed the old cockroach couldn't stay in the right key to save her life.. "You've been distracted all day."

Meg blushed and looked up at Christine, giggling. "I . . . went out . . . with . . . Carl . . . Saturday . . . it was no big deal, really, I mean . . ."

"Aww." Christine smiled and touched Meg's arm. "That's sweet."

"Yeah," said Carl, walking over to them and grinning widely. "But not as sweet as being featured in OMG Magazine with Raoul de Chagny! I swear, sweetheart, I don't know where you get your contacts. I mean, _him_, and soon you'll be as good as Mrs Amadeus . . ."

Christine blushed to the eyes. "Shut up! I . . . I don't know what you mean."

Carl nodded unconvincingly. "Yeah, sure. So why exactly were you and Raoul outside a jeweller's?"

Christine glanced away, her brow furrowed. Of course, like Raoul said, Mr Amadeus was only trying to keep his singers in line. That was all. "Um- well- Raoul got a letter. It was . . . _threatening_. And he said he wanted to buy me a ring, to piss off its sender."

"What did it say?" Meg asked.

"Well, it sai-"

Before she could finish, they were called into order for another performance of _Our Farewell_ by Within Temptation. It hurt Christine's ears on the high notes in Carlotta's part.

But that song was a duet.

And Christine, shoved into opportunity by the company, had the higher part, because there was less of it, though it was more challenging and operatic. Also, Carlotta was an emotionless singing machine and she didn't sing the song with the proper despair or hope. Christine sang it wonderfully.

Or so Erik thought as he watched.

He was backstage, and decided he would speak to her, one way or another. He watched her quietly and his brow furrowed through the song whenever Carlotta shot her a venomous glance. She didn't deserve that. Carlotta was merely threatened, Erik thought as she clawed to a high note, because Christine was better – the younger woman's voice soared effortlessly in harmony above and beyond Carlotta's; Christine put the old diva to shame, he thought happily.

"_Because, my child, this is not our farewell_ . . ." Christine sang sweetly.

"_This is not our farewell_." Carlotta concluded, but it sounded more like her forcing the last words in an argument rather than a peaceful end to a tumultuous song.

Christine moved back to her place by Meg, who bowed her head in mock respect. But there was sincerity in her eyes as she muttered: "I love your voice."

"Thank you." Christine replied with a grin.

Erik, offstage, wished he could say the same words to her. He wished she'd accept those words calmly, sweetly, like she did from that Giry girl.

But his mind was quickly distracted.

Raoul de Chagny _had_ to be in love with her. How could he not be? She was perfection and loveliness embodied.

"Alright, everyone!" announced the stage manager, Ryan Rodgers. "That's it for now. Carlotta, up the front, please."

The older Spanish woman swore as she approached the stage manager, pulling her thick red hair over her shoulder.

Christine and Meg smiled at each other. Anatole and Carl joined them. Over past days, they'd gotten closer and were quickly forming friendships between each other. Anatole grinned at Meg and Carl as they held hands and walked together, then glanced at Christine. "You did amazing."

"Thanks . . . it was just a rehearsal."

"Yeah, but I mean . . . it sounded different."

She smiled vaguely. "Seeing Raoul always makes me feel better."

Erik fumed. He looked at Christine as she came closer, closer, close enough to touch . . . "Miss Daaé!" he almost called, cringing inwardly. She glanced up and _smiled_ at him.

"Um . . . yeah?" she replied, stopping. She glanced at Anatole and smiled, a signal to keep going. He took her hint.

"I must speak with you." Erik said, feeling his cheeks heat.

**xxxx**

**Ugh, these cliff hangers are going to drive you kids insane, huh?**

**I have a request, also! *screams PICK ME PICK ME PICK ME!* **

**Yes. Please go read "Leroux Was Wrong". It's a retelling, but I promise it's nothing you've seen before. Collaboration between myself and BleedingHeartConservative. It's great, I swear.**

**Self-plugging over. See you next time.**


	5. When It Comes To Your Voice

**In this story, Christine's father is a jerk. A real big fat asshole jerk. So please don't hate me for that. It's part of the story.**

**Hey, let's get straight back to the ExC awkwardness!**

**Enjoy.**

**xxxx**

"Um . . . okay . . ." Christine said quietly, suddenly finding her sneaker-clad feet remarkably interesting.

Without knowing exactly what he was doing, Erik reached to tilt her chin up with his index finger and thumb. She attempted to glance away, but something froze her eyes on his. She felt a sick fascination as her eyes danced over the mask. It seemed that a permanently frowning expression was etched into it, and it contrasted strangely with Mr Amadeus's oddly mirthful expression.

"You're talented." Erik said gently, sincerely. Christine blushed brightly.

Erik thought it was adorable.

"Thanks." she murmured.

Anatole glanced back at Christine and Mr Amadeus. On top of being remarkably confused, he became very worried, very quickly. Christine looked dumbfounded – _scared_ – yet she made no move to leave. Anatole's brow furrowed and he started towards them, until he heard Christine thanking him for something. For what? Anatole wondered as he walked away again, nonplussed.

"Miss Daaé – Christine – I should tell you." he tried not to let his voice waver. "I've taken quite in interest in you-" he caught himself. "Your _voice_ of late. But," Christine's heart skipped a few beats. _Is this how he fires people? How strange!_ "I think there are a few ways you could improve."

Suddenly, Erik realised he hadn't planned, in any way, shape, or form, what to say to her. He panicked when she didn't respond and said, as brightly as he could manage: "I would like to offer you private tuition."

Christine couldn't help raising an eyebrow.

"I- I- I couldn't pay for that."

Erik smiled slightly. "Don't worry about the money. I am interested only in further improving a great talent." he chuckled. "When it comes to your voice, I am the best."

She thought if she was blushing any more her face would turn into a tomato. She looked away now and thought for a moment. Maybe, she thought, she could overtake Carlotta! What a dream that was . . . "When?" she asked in a half-whisper. "Umm . . . and . . . _where_?" she added nervously as Carlotta began screeching onstage. Erik took his hand away from her face and offered her his arm.

"My dear, leave that to me."

**xxxx**

Raoul leaned back in his chair and pressed the button to answer his phone. It was on loudspeaker. "Hey, Chris. It's been, like, a week! How have you been?"

He heard her laughing quietly. "_I'm fine. Uhh . . . news with Amadeus_."

"Oh." Raoul murmured, his voice rising an octave as he said: "God. What's he done?"

"_He's my singing teacher_."

"Um. Right." he paused and tried again to register what she'd said. _Really?_ "Are you sure?"

She laughed freely and it took a moment for her to calm herself. "_Oh, Raoul. Yes, I am pretty sure. He asked me. He was really sweet and . . . I 'unno, _gentle."

Raoul couldn't reply.

"_Raoul?_ _Raoul_." Christine asked, sounding worried. "_So, what, now you're not talking to me because I . . ._"

"Christine, you can't!" Raoul said, nervously thinking about how bitter Amadeus had been. What if he hurt Christine, inadvertently or on purpose?

"_Raoul, he'll help me. And you know I can protect myself. _Get out of here, you disgusting girl!"

Raoul sighed, frustrated. When they were younger, the thing that made him realise Christine's father was abusive was he'd screamed at her: "_Get out of here with that little blonde fag, you _disgusting_ girl! Let's hope that he loves you, because I don't!"_ Raoul had been her saviour then, and made sure she was protected from that day onward. Indeed she had gotten out, and there'd been very few times when she looked back.

"Chrissie, love, I just don't want to see you hurt. Again."

After she got away from her father, Raoul had watched as Christine put herself through bad relationship after bad relationship. He hated it. He was just protecting his best friend . . . couldn't she see that? "_Yeah, I understand. But you have to let me make my _own_ decisions_."

He sighed. "You're making me sound like I'm your father."

A second after that, Raoul realised what he'd said and wished desperately to shove the words back into his oversized mouth.

"_Goodbye, Raoul_."

The line went dead.

**xxxx**

Erik couldn't help a wry smile.

Christine would soon be his – though he'd gladly let the world see her sing! Then he'd take her into his arms, and she'd accept his touch . . . no, she'd _relish_ it. He smiled at that thought – _my Christine_. He rather liked the sound of that.

"Mr Amadeus?"

He looked up to see Saleel standing in the doorway.

"What do you want?" he said, his usual barrier of harshness slamming around his heart and mind.

"Sir, Christine Daaé's on the phone."

Erik's heart very quickly froze. He frowned. "Thank you." he said quietly. Saleel left.

And then the staring competition with the handset of the black telephone began.

**xxxx**

"_He'll be with you in a moment_." Christine heard the assistant say. So nonchalantly she waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"Uh . . . Mr Amadeus?" Christine asked. Meeting no response, she got nervous. So she talked. "If it's a bad time, I can probably call back later. Is it? Oh, God, I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have called. Of course, you're CEO of X Productions. You don't have time for me. How stupid of me to think such a thing . . ."

She stopped when she heard him laughing.

"M- Mr Amadeus?" she asked tremulously, drowned out by his chuckling.

"_Oh, Christine, I was quite tempted to let you keep making a fool of yourself!_" Mr Amadeus coughed. "_What is it that I can do for you?_"

Her cheeks flamed. "I was checking . . . you know, because you're CEO – _you're CEO!_ – and . . . I'm sorry. It was stupid of me, an-"

"_Are you going to tell me what you want?_"

Christine paused and smiled. "It's my birthday next Friday. I . . . I was wondering if I could get a replacement."

"_You want the day off?_" Christine noticed that Mr Amadeus sounded all too perturbed by that notion.

"Y- yeah, I do."

"_To do what?_"

She sighed, beginning to think it was pretty pointless to fight. But still. Raoul insisted that they go out for the day. Of course it was easy for him to get the day off – Hell, he delegated almost everything. "To go out with my friend . . ."

"_Hmm."_ he said. That alone was decisive. Christine thought she should just hang up and forget the whole thing. "_That friend, of course, being Raoul de Chagny._"

How did he know that?

"Yes." she said, a little too sharply.

"_No._" he replied, his tone just as caustic.

"Please?" she asked, juvenile, as if that would actually persuade him. After three lessons the rules were already in place: _No relationships. No singing for any company other than X – if you do, your contract is forfeit and you must pay for your lessons. With interest. No excuses. And NO song requests. Your teacher will choose for you._

"_. . . Did you hear me?_"

"What?" she replied absentmindedly.

Mr Amadeus gave an exasperated sigh. "_I _said_ that you don't have to come to the concert _if_ you first have a lesson that day. Alright?_"

"Yeah. Okay." she paused and smiled. "Thank you, sir."

She heard a begrudging sigh. "_You're welcome_."

Smiling, she hung up.

**xxxx**

**No cliff hanger! You can NOT Punjab me, okay okay okay? Good.**

**I would like to say here that Rainbow-Says-Rawr is awesome. And good at deviantart. I am jealous, brew.**

**(That's a weird Aussie thing...)**

**ANYWAY! Thanks for reading another chapter. You've got half of R&R done.**

**Do the rest?**

**See you next time.**


	6. Just a Kiss Part I

**Thanks for your continued great reviews, you guys. Hint FREAKING hint.**

**Seriously, I love you guys.**

**Sorry about the repost but the chapter started acting weird . . .**

**ENJOY!**

**xxxx**

"I was _just friends_ with an underwear model once . . ." Carl said, grinning almost lecherously at Christine. She frowned.

"_Nothing_ is going to happen between me and Raoul. That'd be . . . weird." Christine said, though she admitted silently to herself that she had considered him like that, albeit in younger days. Though he'd always been almost paternal in his care for her, hence it being weird if they did ever get together. "And even if I _did_ like him, I'm not allowed to be in a relationship." she smiled and put on a child's voice: "_Teacher says!_"

"Yeah, yeah, and I'm not even slightly interested in Meg."

"Shush. So . . . getting back to what I was trying to say, a good _hour_ ago," Carl scoffed as Christine paused. "I'm going out with Raoul-"

"See, I told you!" Carl smirked.

"_Tomorrow_. For lunch and . . ."

"Making out!" Meg interjected, walking casually over to them. Christine glared.

"GAH! No! I am _not_ going to date Raoul! I have _no_ interest in him . . . like . . . that." Christine glanced up at the mirrored glass box. Mr Amadeus was likely sitting in there now. For some reason she fought back the urge to wave. She blushed.

"Sure you don't." Carl said, grinning and wrapping an arm around Meg. "And Meg doesn't love me."

She looked at him, seeming offended, then glanced at Christine. "Have fun tomorrow anyway, though."

Christine grinned at them both and pulled Meg into a hug. "At least _you're_ excited."

**xxxx**

Raoul grinned brightly as she came into view. He'd planned the whole day around her. It wasn't going to be romantic _per se_ but the two were going to have a good time. He hoped sincerely.

"Happy birthday!" he said, pulling her into a massive bear hug. He loved that girl.

"Thanks." she squeaked, putting her hand on his chest and putting distance between them. He looked hurt. "Raoul, I sort of need to breathe."

He laughed.

Christine, Raoul noticed, was just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but he thought she was beautiful. Oh, in a totally I-don't-want-to-get-in-your-pants kind of a way. Because she was like a sister. It'd be weird. Or so he tried desperately to convince himself.

"Ugh . . . I'm tired." Christine admitted quietly. Raoul wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they began to walk by the river. Either side of them stretched skyscrapers – including the dark, looming figure of the X Productions building – but down there on the promenade it was an escape from the city.

"Aww, why's that?"

"Mr Amadeus."

Raoul stopped and looked at Christine. He'd been a jerk. He cupped her cheek, smiling as lightly as he could. He wouldn't ruin her birthday. "I'm sorry for the other day." he said gently.

"It's okay. I was just angry. Some days are worse than others when it comes to remembering being with Dad."

"You haven't heard from him in years . . ."

She looked down, swallowed hard, and forced a smile. "I know. Let's hope it stays that way."

Raoul smiled lightly and they continued walking.

**xxxx**

Later, they danced. They'd probably had too many drinks – but who was counting? – and they were flirting like mad. Christine thought fleetingly that her new teacher wouldn't approve but quickly laughed the thought off. She wouldn't be in a relationship – ever – with _Raoul._ That was _silly_. So it was okay to flirt with him. It was no big deal, right?

"You're pretty tonight . . ." Raoul said with a grin as he leaned close to her, as if about to kiss her. She pulled away somewhat hesitantly.

"You're _always_ pretty, Raoul de Chagny." she replied smilingly, ruffling his blonde hair.

"Hey!" he barked, his stern expression melting back into a beaming smile. He languorously lifted his glass to his lips and sipped from it. "That's not nice."

"It's true though."

Raoul, without thinking, rested his hand on her neck, bringing her face close to his own. She was so gorgeous, and he'd liked her a long time . . . what did one kiss between friends matter?

"I'm _not_ pretty." he insisted gently, freeing his other hand by placing it on the table near them. He put his other hand on her waist; Christine simply smiled dumbly. "You are."

With that, he smiled and without a second thought, he kissed her.

He should have known better, but, oh God, kissing Christine felt right. She pulled him deeper into the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck, and forgetting herself. Raoul's clumsy, fumbling hands found the small of her back and she smiled faintly as he pulled away.

"Happy birthday . . ." he mumbled, blushing to the eyes.

Christine grinned and picked up her coat.

"Let's go." she said, reaching for his hand.

**xxxx**

Erik sat in his office, resisting the urge to bash his fist against the keyboard of the piano. Where was Christine? She was late for her lesson for the day. By forty five minutes. It was unacceptable. He was angry, but he wouldn't let it show. If he got angry at her . . . he didn't want to think about what would happen. All he knew was it would end with blood.

She came at last and he let his eyes flare with pent up rage. She looked sick, her eyes were bloodshot, her skin looked paler than usual . . .

"Sorry I'm so late, Mr Amadeus." she said quietly, shielding her eyes from the sunlight streaming in the window with a shaking hand. Erik rose and moved to the window, pressing a button on the wall and sending the blinds shut. "I had a big night."

He noticed the odd tone in her voice but was too worried to pay it any mind. Later he'd rage at her for coming late to a lesson – even worse, coming late _hungover_ to a lesson – but for now she was looking more sickly than he cared to see her. He ushered her to the black – of course – leather sofa and made her sit down. "You don't look good. Will you be alright by tonight?"

She sighed and leaned her head back. "Yeah, probably . . . I'm sorry, Mr Amadeus."

Christine felt a leather clad finger pressed to her lips.

"It's alright." he said, raising his concealed eyebrow. He moved to the water cooler at the side of the room and poured her a glass. She looked uncomfortable, like a wounded animal, and his soul sighed for her pain.

"Here," he said, handing it to her. She smiled thankfully and he felt he could restrain the question no longer. "How was your night?"

Christine's heart froze dead in her chest.

**xxxx**

**Cliff hanger? Ehh . . . not really in my books compared to other times. They're just fun is all.**

**Please leave me many lovely reviews and you'll get cookies. Many cookies.**

**See you next time.**

**PS, I've forgotten to thank Breeness for her awesome reviews on both this story and The Killer's Reverie – but thank you; they mean a lot! :)**


	7. Just a Kiss Part II

**Ohey!**

**Don't you just HATE me?**

**Enjoy.**

**xxxx**

The girl ran ahead of the clear-skinned blonde boy, laughing and gasping for air by turns. The boy was gaining on her and she stopped at the top of the hill, breathlessly taking in the view before her. The hills looked beautiful and the sun was setting. The boy wrapped his arms around her. "Almost as pretty as you." he said quietly. She turned and hugged him back.

"You're my best friend, Raoul de Chagny." she replied, squeezing him close.

"We should get back." he said, but she stopped him, a hand on his shoulder.

"Do you promise things won't change when we go back to school, Raoul?"

He smiled confidently. "You're _my_ best friend, Christine Daaé. _Nothing_ is going to change."

And nothing did. They stayed close, and . . . and at twenty three, they kissed. Christine broke herself from her reverie and looked at her teacher. He was angry now, because she hadn't responded. She gulped. There was no use trying to fool inscrutable, genius Mr Amadeus. So with a heavy sigh she said, "I kissed Raoul."

The news hit Erik like a ton of bricks. She had feelings for someone else? She didn't feel anything towards him _at all_? She had the nerve to lend her mouth to Raoul bloody de Chagny? He was slightly repulsed to think that the area of her that tended to be his domain – he taught her to sing, and her lips were meant only to form words and syllables and notes – had probably had that young . . . _bastard's_ tongue all over it. He literally could not repress a shudder.

Christine bit her lip and waited for the rage she thought was coming. Already he seemed furious and she sighed quietly. "I wasn't thinking, Mr Amadeus. I was drunk. I know that that's against your rules, and I'm really sorry. I don't know what it is I was thinking exactly. I was an idiot. Please, forgive me . . ."

"Shut up." Erik barked, feeling a little harsh and reproaching himself on the inside for it. "Do you love him?" he asked.

The question hung on the air between them, sinking like the Titanic, making them both feel infinitely worse for every second that passed in silence. Christine bit her lip till she tasted metallic blood. "Yeah, but not-"

Erik didn't let her finish. "Then why are you bothering, Christine? It is singing or it is your boy. Your decision."

He crossed his arms across his broad chest, quirking his visible eyebrow.

She got up. "Mr Amadeus," she gave a devilish smile, "_Maestro_," Erik's heart melted, "I want to sing more than anything. I didn't mean to offend you. Raoul and I were just . . . I don't know what we were doing. We never have. But Raoul and me – we're close, closer than mac and cheese – aren't going to do . . . that. To be frank, Mr Amadeus," Erik longed for her to call him Maestro again. "With full presence of mind, being with Raoul is a kind of weird thought."

Erik relaxed a mite. "_No_ relationships. That's the most important rule. Do you understand?"

"Of course."

"Very well. Let's sing then."

**xxxx**

Raoul looked nervously at the roof. Surely he hadn't done what he thought he'd done. That was it! Maybe he was just thinking. Maybe he hadn't gotten drunk and kissed Christine. He hoped – well, halfway knew – that, for one thing, she would think it was nothing but a drunken fumble, and for another, she didn't want anything from it. She was an impressionable girl, much as he hated to think it. She might get the wrong message from it. He hoped she wouldn't. He'd be a brother, a best friend, a soul mate – that's what he felt she was, at least – but he couldn't be Christine's boyfriend. That was where it started getting . . . personal.

He thought of what he'd said to Amadeus. The impression he'd gotten was . . . confusing, to say the least. If he liked, or had taken an interest in, or, God forbid, fallen in love with Christine, then Raoul would be only too glad to give the man a crash course in the surprising world of human anatomy and what can go where with the appropriate sharp objects.

Slowly Raoul rose from bed and relaxed slightly to see it otherwise empty. He went to the bathroom and started to get ready for another day running a business at twenty three years old.

**xxxx**

"Aw, Christine." Anatole smiled as she walked into the room. "For one thing, happy birthday. For another, it must have been one Hell of a party! Why wasn't I invited?"

"It was just Raoul and I . . . a night on the town."

Christine smiled vaguely and her mind drifted to the afternoon. It had been great. They'd had a semi-philosophical conversation and had laughed many times. There'd hardly been any paparazzi, when usually Raoul – being young, rich and famous – was followed everywhere by those buzzing flies with cameras and notepads. They were waiting for his façade to crack, for him to say something vaguely risqué. Raoul often confided in Christine that he'd come close to getting angry many times. Lucky he hadn't though, she thought.

"That's not what OMG says." Meg said, sidling over and handing a magazine page to Christine. She read it feverishly.

_**Hey, readers! Turns out our rumours about the Raoul de Chagny romance with Christine Daaé, the world's favourite back-up singer, weren't groundless. The two were apparently spotted at the Rose Bar, smooching it up on the dance floor! Lovebirds! Well, here we are, thinking that this romance is just adorable. We can't wait for a hot romp in Santa Cruz!**_

_**Tasha Skinner**_

"Oh my God." Christine said.

"_That's_ why they call it OMG." Anatole said, grinning and trying as always to lighten the mood just a bit. Christine's eyes searched the page as if she was looking for the punch line in that cruel joke. But she found nothing and instead tore it in two.

"What the Hell, Chris?" Meg asked. Christine sighed and rubbed her temples.

"Mr Amadeus is going to kill me! If he sees this, he'll overreact to the extreme . . . I'm so screwed."

Anatole and Meg merely laughed.

**xxxx**

Erik glared at the screen. He'd hired a private investigator to research this Tasha Skinner, the one who seemed intent upon establishing the whirlwind romance between Christine – _my student Christine_, Erik thought bitterly – and young de Chagny. He hoped that nobody was buying into that drivel. Who would, anyway? It was ridiculous. Sweet as the two may have looked to others, Erik thought that considering them lovers was ridiculous. Christine had said so, and he had little choice but to trust her.

Sighing, he continued to look through the information on the young blonde journalist.

**xxxx**

**Bit short, I know.**

**Please leave me some reviews to wake up to. Where I am it's one in the morning. So, goodnight. Or morning. Or whatever. XD**

**See you next time.**

**PS, Forgive any mistakes.**


	8. Just a Kiss Part III

**There's a Robert Englund reference in this chapter, but it's pretty small. I've pulled from other versions, so why not that one too?**

**Enjoy!**

**xxxx**

_Christine looked nervously at her teacher. She swallowed dryly. "E- e- excuse me, Mr Amadeus, I didn't understand that."_

"_I _said_ . . ." and that was the moment he froze too. But then slowly he walked towards her, took her in his arms, moved her hair from her ear. "I said I love you."_

_And, with a whirlwind of emotion and music and vibrancy swirling around both of them, he kissed her._

**xxxx**

Christine woke in a cold sweat. Did she really just dream that – _that?_ Did she really imagine herself kissing her singing instructor – and _enjoying_ it, no less? With stilted breathing, she rose from the couch and rubbed her eyes. She showered and got ready for her lesson. It was in a half hour and she ran downstairs and just made the bus, getting weird looks from everyone. Two teenage girls looked up, and one of them squealed. Christine glanced up.

"Oh my God, it's Raoul de Chagny's girlfriend!"

_That's why they call it OMG Magazine_, Christine thought dryly.

She turned away but one of the girls tapped her on the shoulder. She rolled her eyes.

"Yeah?" she asked intolerantly, glancing at her watch.

"You're . . . God, what's your name? I 'unno. Raoul's girl. Ugh, he's so _handsome_. What happened on Friday night, huh?"

Christine thought that was very rude. And she wasn't even thinking about the real kiss with Raoul. She was thinking about the one with – she groaned inwardly – Mr Amadeus. Surely she was imagining things. Surely. She didn't _want_ him to kiss her for one thing, and for another . . . she _couldn't_ want to. She wasn't allowed to be in a relationship. It was against Mr Amadeus's own rules, so even if he did like her back – which, she thought with a mild sneer, was in severe doubt as it was – she wouldn't, by his own ruling, be allowed to date him.

He didn't seem the type to _date_, anyway.

"Huh?" the teen repeated, bringing Christine from her unsettled reverie.

"Oh . . . nothing. Don't you think it's a little rude to ask such a personal question?"

The bus lurched to a stop. As the two girls alighted Christine heard the one that hadn't spoken saying to her loud-mouthed friend: "God, she's so talented. I didn't think she would be such a _bitch_ up close."

The other laughed. "So, did you hear about Jordan and Amanda . . ."

Christine didn't hear the rest of their conversation. She sighed and sat down in a vacant seat, just hoping that she wasn't going to be late.

**xxxx**

He felt bad about sending somebody to follow her. It made him feel like a criminal – a _stalker!_ – but he had to know that she was safe; he had to know that nobody was hurting her.

He had to know if he needed to exact revenge on anyone for looking at her the wrong way.

And the snitch rushed into the room a few minutes ahead of her. He cocked an eyebrow. "Sir, some . . ." the young, thin man, reminding Erik rather of a cockney thief, paused and caught his breath. "Some teen girls asked her what happened on Friday evening. She said nothing . . . girls called her . . . a bitch, sir."

The snitch winced as Erik stood up. "Go." he said simply, and the young man fairly ran for his life. He fumed.

But paused. Sure, he'd done some despicable things to get to the top. But was he really considering harming teenagers because they offended Christine? What was so special about her anyway? Apart from her voice, and her gentle demeanour, and . . . and . . .

He was Erik, God damn it!

He was the one that made himself from nothing – less than nothing, a slave child to a bitch of a mother who should never have had children, never have been allowed into adulthood herself – he was the one that escaped, stole a mask from the local theatre, stole money from the same place, and ran as far as he could get. He was the one that worked his fingers to the bone as a clerk in a small town architecture firm and then slept on a park bench most nights, getting beaten once and then learning by sometimes provoking people how to defend himself. He was the one that heard Mozart's _Dies Irae_ and then, falling then and there in love with music, adopted the composer's first name – that day, he married music.

He did not have a second love.

_Ah, but you do!_

He slammed his fist on the desk and moved to the piano. He tried to play something, something of his own in fact, but his hands just weren't working. He tried in vain to relax them, thinking about anything but her, though when he tried to play his mind would slip and then so would his hands, producing a cacophony that sounded more painful than skilful.

Christine found him thus when she arrived. She bit her lip and he melted at the quizzical look on her face. "Ch- Christine," he murmured, in awe at her grace as she glided across the room. Had she never been hurt before? Why was she not a wreck from the abuse? She was delicate . . . or so she seemed.

"Hi . . . sorry, I . . . I woke up late . . ."

"You seem nervous." he said, observing her carefully. She bit her lip and glanced at him through her thick dark eyelashes.

"N- no. I'm . . . no."

He chuckled softly, and the hairs of Christine's neck stood on end. She tried to drive the dream away, but damn it . . . he stood up and moved fluidly – yes, that was the word, _fluidly_ – to his desk. He pulled out some sheet music and handed it to her. "This is the next song you'll be learning."

She looked at it carefully, and noticed the name of the composer. "You wrote this, sir?"

He smiled. "Yes. One of my first compositions. Come, we'll do some exercises."

And they did. But Christine couldn't help but feel tension. Every so often she would glance up at her teacher and find his eyes – his eyes! One was ice blue, the other deep azure; it was strange! – trained not on her own eyes, but on her mouth, as if her voice was going to disappear if he looked away. He stopped playing for a while and rubbed his hands together. "Five minutes," he said quietly, his voice aquiver. "I have some business to attend to."

She stopped, smiled, and collapsed on the sofa as he walked out of the room. Why were her cheeks so flushed? Her heart was beating so fast she thought it would leap out of her chest.

When he came back, he resumed his place nonchalantly. "Come," he said quietly, and she stood by his side. Looking at the music she went over it in her head, and was surprised.

"It's . . . dramatic . . ." she said.

"Personal experience." Erik replied carefully. She smiled faintly as he played the jarring but oddly beautiful introduction, and she sang.

"_Your eyes see but my shadow . . ._"

**xxxx**

She rose and smiled. They'd talked – really talked, she told Erik about her father, and a few of the more . . . well, _tame_ incidents with him, and he'd listened vehemently (if such a thing was possible), his brow furrowing as if her own pain was his – for nearly an hour. She glanced at her watch. "Crap, I have to get ready for the concert!"

She couldn't resist it. In fact, she'd forgotten the dream and wasn't really even thinking about it. She simply leaned forward and kissed his exposed cheek. She blushed and everything came back to her in a rush. Realising what she had just done, she said: "Uh, thanks . . . for today."

He muttered something and she took her leave as fast as her legs would carry her.

Erik sat, rather stunned, at his desk. Had she really just kissed him? Was such a thing even conceivable in this cruel world when he had never – _never!_ – been kissed before? Was it all just a blissful dream?

The way her warm little hand had lightly clasped his, the feel of her soft lips brushing over his skin . . . no, such a thing could not be faked or imagined – God knew he'd tried! – and it must have been real. Yes, he decided with a sort of smug smile, it was real. And that made him happy. Truly happy. Yes, he grinned, Erik Amadeus had for the first time in his life tasted true happiness.

And all he knew was that he wanted more.

**xxxx**

**And the ExC romance begins!**

**Sorry about the Englund reference . . . I love his Don Juan Triumphant; it's actually the best I've heard in all versions.**

**This is the end of the "Just a Kiss" saga, I **_**swear**_**. Really.**

**Okay, see you next time!**


	9. A Mistake Well Made

**I've been at my Granny's place, OKAY?**

**Enjoy.**

**xxxx**

"Christine, Carlotta's ill!"

The cry rang through their dressing room; Christine's makeup brush fell out of her hand. Meg ran to her side and smiled. "She's suddenly got a cold! Lucky, don't you think?"

"Lucky? The concert won't go on."

"Yeah! Night off! Come to the party someone's throwing!"

"Geez, Meg, as appealing a concept as that is-"

Her phone rang.

She picked it up.

"_Christine? It's . . . Mr Amadeus,_" On the other end, Erik wished he could ask her to call him by his first name. "_You may've heard from . . . erm, _Miss Giry_, but there is no concert tonight. I was wondering . . ._" Christine smiled. In the short time she'd known him, Mr Amadeus had never appeared nervous. Meg gave her a weird look. "_Y- you've been a good student. Would you like to come out to dinner with me?_"

She froze. God, really? Uh . . . that certainly seemed like a perfectly normal proposition. Dinner. Dinner was harmless. It was eating and laughing and then . . . _then_ it was . . . walks home and holding hands and kissing and-

Was she even thinking that?

"Uh . . . yeah, sure, I guess . . ."

"_Excellent!_" His tone brightened noticeably. "_I lo- I mean, I'll see you later tonight. Stay at the arena._"

"Okay, bye."

"_Goodbye, Christine_."

Meg bit her lip and grinned as Christine blushed. "Who was that? Raoul, asking for a second date?"

"No."

"Who was it then? C'mon, spill!"

She stopped, her brow furrowing as she looked at Meg. "It was Mr Amadeus," she said after a worried pause. "Asking for a first."

Meg's jaw dropped and Christine gave her a withering look. "You mean . . . _Mr_ Amadeus? _The_ Mr Amadeus, CEO of X Productions?"

She sighed. "Y- yeah."

Meg squealed. Christine sighed. "It's- it's not a date. Don't get all riled up about it. He said it was a reward for being a good student."

"Oh, yep, sure, I believe you!" Meg nodded and gave a small not-very-reassuring wink. Christine rolled her eyes pointedly and glanced away to work on her hair as she looked over her reflection in the dressing room mirror, and Meg gushed about what this _date_ was going to be like.

Christine tried to ignore the feeling in her gut that this night was going to turn out romantic.

**xxxx**

Erik very nearly punched himself in the face. As he'd been hanging up on Christine, he'd come within inches of saying those three words, the ones that some coveted, others spurned, and some were nonchalant about. But from him to Christine he knew it would produce nothing but fear and she'd run from him, he knew. There were things he'd done that were entirely inexcusable. He'd killed; he'd stolen . . . He'd done things no human should witness. So why was he smiling?

_Because she said yes_.

His smile broadened as he realised that he was going out for dinner with the most beautiful woman in the world. That was perhaps the best thing he had ever heard. And, smiling – yes, smiling! – he pulled on his overcoat and left his office. He barked a command into a phone and went on his way to a black car. He was going to have a good evening, he decided, and with a vague smirk on his lips he wondered what Christine was going to look like. She was always beautiful, of that he was sure.

Nothing could have prepared him for the sight that met his eyes as he walked to her room. No, it wasn't Christine's flawless beauty. It was blonde Meg Giry racing straight into his chest as he poised himself to knock on the door. She stopped, pushed herself away from him, and looked up, probably expecting to see some bodyguard or something. But Erik felt her eyes on the mask, almost . . . and shock widened her green eyes like saucers. "Mr- Mr Amadeus. Holy crap! I mean, poop . . . I mean . . . umm . . . _shit_ . . . uhh . . ."

Blushing furiously, Meg moved out of the doorway. Erik chuckled, knocked and brandished the rose in his gloved hand. Christine looked up and her eyes flashed. "Uh, hey . . ." she blushed, the colour ever so lightly tinting her pretty porcelain cheeks.

He nodded, a half-smile across his mouth, to his surprise. "Are you ready?" he said as he dared to walk towards her, and handed the rose to her. Her fingers caressed the velvety petals and she lifted it to her nose, inhaling and closing her eyes.

"Thank you, sir . . . it's beautiful."

He dreamed that her love would blossom like the rose.

And he furrowed his brow and looked away. "You're quite welcome, _Christine_."

She stood and smiled. "Do I look okay?"

She was wearing a red t-shirt and jeans but she looked beautiful. Smiling lightly, she said: "I was half-ready for the performance . . . If I'd known . . ."

"I assure you that you look stunning." he replied, gently clasping her dainty hand in his. How could he _not_ tell her how simply infatuated he was with her, how could he not tell her how he loved her when she was so effortlessly _gorgeous_?

She grinned and grabbed a red scarf from the table. She wrapped it around her neck and Erik found himself jealous, wishing that it was his arms instead. "So where are we going tonight?"

"Wherever you choose. This is a reward for you after all . . ."

She smiled mischievously and raised an eyebrow. "Okay, if you say so."

**xxxx**

They spent a good evening. Christine – Erik thanked the nonexistent, sadistic God that supposedly created the world – didn't notice the way his eyes didn't leave her face. And later, when they'd both had wine, Erik felt a little safer. "I've never heard about your family, my dear."

She stiffened. "I- there's . . . not much to tell."

He pressed. "But I am interested."

"Well . . . my dad was a jerk. My mother died when I was young, and . . . he thought it was me, I guess . . . and when I was fourteen, Raoul got his brother to take me in, and I lived with them. Uh . . . and when I went back to Dad a little later . . ." she exhaled shakily. "His house . . . it was empty. And, uhh . . . I haven't seen him since. I dunno if he's alive."

"I . . . I am sorry." Erik said sincerely. She smiled.

"It's okay."

She smiled again as Erik carefully shifted the subject away from their pasts. That was a demon he would allow to rest.

**xxxx**

Normally neither would have liked to walk home but it had been a good night so far. So why not? Erik, chivalrous as always, offered her his arm, and she took it happily. They walked and Erik smiled as he realised Christine was flirting with him. Could it be she . . . she was interested by him? No, intrigued perhaps, but never . . . God forbid . . . she couldn't find him attractive.

_Nobody will ever love that face!_ He remembered his mother screaming as she beat him. Erik involuntarily clung tighter to the arm entwined with his own in a moment of vulnerability. Christine looked up and saw the anguish on his face. "Mr Amadeus, what's wrong?"

He blinked a few times. "Nothing, Christine. Nothing. I am fine."

They continued in silence until her apartment block. They stopped outside and Christine smiled. "Thank you, Mr Amadeus."

"Erik." he corrected brashly. Her brow furrowed. "I mean, my name's Erik. Call me Erik."

She looked into his eyes, an odd clarity beyond the tipsy haze that surrounded the beautiful blue orbs. She smiled and before he knew what was happening, she was kissing him.

He pulled away in a mixture of shock, amazement and abject terror. No, no, nobody loved Erik!

She looked burnt and blushed brightly. "I . . . excuse me."

And she rushed into the building, leaving a confused and elated Erik on the street.

**xxxx**

**Yep. I think if you review any chapter in this story, it should be this one. But don't worry. There's still plenty of plot to come. I promise.**

**See you next time.**


	10. I Love You

**Hi everyone! :D**

**Enjoy.**

**xxxx**

Oh, how Erik dreamt of the kiss that night. He kept reliving the look in beautiful Christine's eyes, the gentle, disarming way her lips had so briefly – oh, but so wonderfully! – pressed against his – _his!_ Did she know that before her nobody had ever kissed him? Nobody had smiled and touched his hand or his arm as she talked about her no doubt painful past and actually _smiled_ like a living angel.

When would he tell her how he felt?

No, that was treachery against himself _and_ Christine! He'd never do it, never burden her with his ever-growing, ever-strengthening love, no matter what he thought he saw in the depths of those blue eyes. He'd just imagine that it never happened. Yes. Of course.

And how did he plan on forgetting his first kiss?

He couldn't. Instead he decided he had to tell her how he felt before he changed his mind.

**xxxx**

"Stupid, stupid, stupid!" Christine groaned and buried her face in her hands as if it'd find refuge there. It was the morning after the dat- after _dinner_ with Mr Amadeus and her head ached, not from the wine – she'd drunk more than that in the past – but from the pure and simple fact that she'd _kissed_ him. _Kissed_ him! What had driven her to do it? It was just bloody dinner!

_Erik,_ she remembered he'd said, with a smile in his eyes, _Call me Erik._

She couldn't do that. She had to . . . to keep him at arm's-length. God knew she didn't want to grow close to him. He was probably like most guys. He was probably a jerk once you got to know him. So why bother, Christine wondered. Why'd she kiss him? She should have known it would have caused all this trouble and thought and- _ugh_, she tried to stop herself.

But as she went to the arena in the early afternoon she got a sinking feeling in her stomach that something had gone terribly wrong.

**xxxx**

He didn't exactly know how to be rational in such a situation as this. Hell, he didn't know how to be in love! He watched her pass his door on the security camera and sighed. She was too beautiful to ever be his. He could not have her. Hell, she probably had some other man on her mind – like de Chagny – even as he watched. She was probably thinking about another man and imagining someone else entwining her in his arms.

But not Erik. Never Erik.

He sighed and stood as he went to tell her what he knew was true.

**xxxx**

"So, did you get laid?"

"_Meg!_"

"What?" she batted her eyelids. "Just askin' is all."

"N- no, I didn't!"

Christine blushed furiously. Meg simply glanced at he and gave a smirk. Christine continued to apply makeup and sighed.

"Okay, what the Hell, you just got lost in space. What _did_ happen last night?"

"Uh . . . well . . ." Christine gave a half smile and shrugged. "Nothing really happened. I mean, he's really nice . . ."

"You know the guy's bitten off heads, right?"

Christine looked simply appalled.

Meg giggled. "I'm joking. I'm sure he's not really that bad. Then again, hiding away from everybody all the time can't be good for a guy. Maybe it'll help him to have a girlfriend."

"I'm not his girlfriend." Christine blushed furiously.

"Oh? I guess that that's why I found this." she held up another rose, this one deep, almost bloody, red. Christine frowned.

"It's not for me, I bet."

Meg put on a low drawl as she read the accompanying note. "_My dearest Miss Daaé, I thank you most sincerely for the other evening, but I still expect to see you tomorrow for your lesson. With _fondness," Meg winked suggestively at that point, "_With fondness, E. Amadeus, Chief Executive Officer, X Productions._"

"It's typed," Christine said after a pause, a look of disappointment crossing her face. It suddenly seemed so formal, businesslike, not like he meant it. "He didn't even write it himself."

"And you _care_ about that." Meg smiled. Christine scowled. "Hey, relax. Y'know, this is all shaping up to look like a romance . . . Except your knight in shining armour is more of a . . ."

"A recluse in a black suit."

Meg smiled infectiously and Christine's lips couldn't help but curve at her friend's amusement. "Exactly!" Meg grinned. "So sweet, don't ya think?"

Christine's smile fell as she turned to the door to see none other than Mr Amadeus standing in the doorway.

**xxxx**

"S- sir?"

She looked scared and Erik cringed inwardly. "I'm sorry for disturbing you."

"N- no, it- it's . . . fine." she paused and turned away. She bit her lip and Meg raised her eyebrows.

"Um . . ." the blonde drew both of their attentions. She blushed. "I . . . just- uh, I was . . ." Surreptitiously as she could, she moved towards the door. "Y'know, I gotta- uh . . . I'm . . . I was just . . ."

She slipped out without offering an excuse.

Christine laughed.

Erik glanced after her. "I- is Miss Giry always like that?"

A smile on her part. "Only when she detects an awkward situation." Christine turned to face her teacher. "Speaking of which . . ." She sighed, feeling sheepish and not a little stupid. "I'm really sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. Whether it was too much wine, or-"

"I love you," he snapped, almost sounding angry, as brash and quick as anything he'd ever said in his life.

She looked at him as if he'd slapped her. "I'm sor- uh . . . what?"

He looked as confused as her. He ran a hand through his dark hair and looked up at her; the betrayal and confusion and horror was obvious in her eyes. "I mean . . . oh God, Christine, forgive me!"

She rushed out of the room before he could, and he felt tears run down his face as he watched her leave.

**xxxx**

She didn't show up that night. Erik made sure that the best singer from the small supporting choir replaced her, but it wasn't the same. He tore off his mask in his shaded booth and let his disgusting, cursed face fall into his hands. How could he have been so stupid? Sighing, he remembered the way she'd looked, a moment before he'd ruined his life. All of this simply wasn't worth it. The company, the money, all the music he ever created, the fortune, the pseudo-contentedness – what was it without Christine?

He went home later that night and, in his misery, actually managed to drink himself to sleep.

**xxxx**

"Raoul?"

Her voice was desperate; he hurt at just hearing it.

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

Christine sighed in vague relief, but she was terrified still. Had he really . . . ? "Raoul, I need a hug."

He chuckled slightly. "Sure thing, Chris. You're concerning me though. What's up? You can tell me; I'm pretty sure this line isn't monitored."

Sighing, Christine replied. "Mr Amadeus said he loved me."

The anger bubbled in his throat. He slammed his fist on the desk he was sitting at. "What? He said _what?_" She stuttered a reply. "Christine, I love you and all, but I have to go."

The line went dead before Christine could stop him.

**xxxx**

**Howdy, strangers! It's been a while. I won't bore you with the stories. Anyways, thanks for reading thus far.**

**A review would be greatly appreciated. ^^**


	11. Complicated Matters

**Ohey!**

**Fancy meeting you wonderful bunch here. Sorry all my updates are slow recently and will continue to be so . . . see, I just started back at school. I know, I know, tragic. XD **

**Anyway, here you go, another chapter for you lovelies. **

**Enjoy!**

**xxxx**

Raoul fumed as he walked, wondering what he could do. He knew he shouldn't be acting on Christine's behalf like he was but damn it if he wasn't absolutely furious. He knew she couldn't take love no matter how much she thought that she wanted to. She was hurt, broken; her father had torn her heart to shreds every moment of every day that she was with him. And if Raoul was honest with himself – a practice he abhorred – he knew he was partly angry at Amadeus for pulling that crap because he didn't want to think of Christine with a guy.

_That_ was wrong.

He groaned as he moved under an overpass. He didn't know when he'd gotten into the seedy part of town, but he felt safe. Raoul was a tough guy, no matter how deep into the corporate world he got.

"I hardly expected to see you here at this time of night, de Chagny."

He looked up.

"What the Hell are _you_ doing here?" Raoul demanded, standing to his full height. Erik stayed in the shadows and gave a small sigh.

"Eloquent as always."

Raoul ran a hand through his blonde hair. "Christine called me."

There was a moment of stunned silence on Erik's end. Raoul watched him shift his position uncomfortably in the shadows.

"She's not fit for love, Amadeus."

Erik groaned, looking defeated, and Raoul might even have gone so far as to say pathetic. But he didn't pity him. Nope, not at all.

Raoul watched the tensing of the masked man's jaw; he saw the subtle deepening of the furrow in his brow. Erik sighed, defeated, and leaned against the wall. "I hate it."

Raoul's brow creased and he remembered his anger. "Just like _I_ hate _you_!" A slight pause as he gathered his thoughts. "I . . . I mean, you have _no_ idea what Christine has been through in her life! No idea what she's survived! Her dad . . ." Raoul stopped and ran a hand through his hair again, realising how stupid he must have looked, ranting at a shadow. He continued, his voice a little lower. "Her dad did bad things to her. You think you have a _right_ to dump that crap on her?" He shook his head.

"Leave her the Hell alone if you know what's good for you." he said finally, ending his tirade.

Raoul kept walking and Erik glared after him.

**xxxx**

Christine sighed. For a moment she wondered what she'd done. She forced herself to push the blame far from herself.

A knock at the door distracted her and she smiled as she raced to answer it.

Raoul had her in his arms perhaps the same second as opening the door. For a few minutes they stood in that warm embrace on the threshold. When Christine pulled away a few tears lingered on her face. He smiled and wiped them off with the pads of his thumbs.

"Wanna talk?" he asked. He decided, wisely enough, against telling her about the encounter with the mask-wearing impresario as he went to sit on her sofa, smiling up and prompting for her to join him.

Christine sniffed and wiped her eye with a finger. "Where did you go?"

"I had to blow off some steam. I'm really sorry, Chris." he said with a half-smile.

She sighed and collapsed against him on the couch. "It's fine. You're here now. But don't you have to work tomo-"

"You're more important." he said, a hand on her shoulder. She smiled.

"I love you, Raoul."

He chuckled. "I love you too, but I think you don't want to hear that again tonight."

Sighing, Christine replied, "I don't know why I . . . never mind."

"Chris_tine_." Raoul prompted gently.

"I- I . . . I don't know why I was so appalled. I . . . I like him I guess." she sniffed. "I mean, there's no way I love him . . . but still. He's probably hurt."

_He deserves it,_ Raoul thought, fighting the sneer from his face. "Perhaps so, but you should be considering yourself in this, Christine. I mean, think about it. If he loves you . . ." Which Raoul severely doubted, "Then he's not going to let you go if you get sick of him. And he's a corporate guy. From the inside, I know we're _all_ heartless bastards."

Christine scoffed. "You're talking me out of a relationship."

"I think you mean, my dear, that you're talking yourself _into_ one." Raoul chided lightly, trying not to betray himself to her.

She sighed and sat up. "I should give him a chance."

Raoul stood to his feet and began pacing, a nervous habit when a certain matter was troubling his mind. "I don't want you hurt, Chris. I love you, and I've seen guys screw you over in the past. What if he's one of them? What if he's a jerk and he hurts you?"

Christine pulled herself to her feet and put her hands on her friend's shoulders. "What if he's actually a good person? What if I misunderstood what he meant?"

"It's hard to misconstrue "I love you", Christine." Raoul replied, his voice flat.

She shook her head. "I kissed him. Did I tell you that?"

Raoul was shocked. For a moment he stared at her in wonder then his brow furrowed. "What- but- why?"

Christine smiled knowingly. "He's sweet, Raoul." she sighed contentedly, it seemed, and continued. "Trust me. I know I'm going to get hurt."

He hugged her. "I don't want it to happen again. I mean, after . . . I've watched it happen so many times."

"Trust me."

There was a pause as Raoul considered it. He knew that Christine was strong and independent when she wanted to be. He knew – Hell, he'd seen – that she could take care of herself. Perhaps better than he could at times. But from what he knew of Amadeus, albeit very little, he thought that the bastard would use her because she was young and pretty.

Something prompted him to say what he did next, although he wasn't quite sure exactly what that was.

"I do, Christine. I trust you."

"Thank you." she said, and their eyes locked. A silent moment of understand passed between them; Christine then smiled and turned away. "Can I get you a cup of coffee?" she asked breezily, slipping into her kitchen with that suddenly-not-forced smile on her face. She had a feeling she'd be talking to her teacher again soon.

**xxxx**

**Eh. **

**My muse has jumped out the window, it's official.**

**Forgive any mistakes as I am editing late at night. Hope you enjoyed it, and if so let me know! ^^**

**See you next time!**

**PS, The Erik-Raoul confrontation was going to be a fair bit more . . . aggressive, but these incarnations aren't that mean. It's not in their nature, in my head anyway.**

**Review! :D**


	12. A Second Chance is a Beautiful Thing

**WARNING: Fluff, insanely long A/N at end of chapter, and a devious and mostly evil member of the paparazzi.**

**But, y'know, enjoy, and junk.**

**xxxx**

Meg grinned as Christine appeared at the end of the corridor. She rushed towards Meg and looked nervous.

"How's my lovely flirt? I didn't make it _too_ awkward, did I?" Meg said with a charming, infectious smile.

Christine rolled her eyes. She wasn't going to let it get to her. Meg didn't know what had transpired. She _wasn't_ being insensitive. "You have no idea." she said, hardly offering an explanation.

"Where have _you_ been?"

Christine beamed as Anatole walked down the hallway and embraced her. "We missed you last night. Whoever that replacement was _sucked_ compared to you." he pulled away and cupped her face, pushing a few strands of hair from her eye. "Are you okay?"

Her smile faltered a little and she prayed they didn't notice. "Yeah, fine. I was . . . a little unwell. I guess. I don't know if I'm singing tonight." she paused and inwardly frowned at the looks of disappointment on their faces. "I- I gotta go see Mr Amadeus."

"Rawr." Meg said. Subtlety was never a strong point of hers. Christine narrowed her eyes at her. She laughed and linked her arm in Anatole's. "Come on, let's go visit Carl. He'll get jealous if it's just the two of us." Meg winked and looked at Christine. "Have fun with the boss."

Christine was pensive as she walked towards the tinted box she knew belonged to Mr- to _Erik_. She sighed. She had no plan on what to say, what to do, how to act. Nobody had ever admitted something so brashly to her before. She frowned and nervously knocked.

No response.

She sighed again. "Erik, it's Christine."

She expected to hear a shuffle or something, but instead the door opened noiselessly. He stood there, his suit dishevelled, his normally slicked back hair unkempt, a few strands around his face, and a sad look in his eyes like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. She gave a half-smile.

"Are you busy?"

"N- never too much so for you," Christine simply couldn't deny the sad adoration in his voice. Her smile widened as he moved aside and closed the door. Looking up at her, he said as an afterthought: "Oh . . . you don't mind if I close the door?"

She grinned. "Not at all." She turned to look dead into his eyes. There were a million words she could have said. But the only ones that decided to come out? "Erik . . ." she paused and an apology, an admission of her own feelings, a torrent of abuse for putting so much on her shoulders, all were on the tip of her tongue. She swallowed and tried again. "What's your favourite colour?"

He eyed her with confusion for a moment and her smile fell as he looked exceedingly serious . . .

Before he burst into laughter.

His sadness seemed to completely disappear and she leaned against the table that ran along the wall. "Sir?" she said, chewing on her lip.

He sobered almost immediately. He looked up at her with the laughter but a small twinkle in his mismatched eyes. "I'm sorry. Very sorry. It's just that, well . . . f-for one thing, I've never . . . I've never been asked that before. A- and, I thought you were going to give your two weeks' notice, or . . . or something. I apologise."

She smiled. "I was hoping to talk about . . . what you said to me."

Erik frowned. "I'm sorry. I should never have said anything. It'd help if you could just . . . forget that I did." he shook his head. "I didn't take you into consideration."

"Do you, though?" she asked hollowly.

Erik froze, a sinking feeling in his gut. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"D- do you love me?" she asked quickly before she could talk herself out of it. She watched the expression on the side of his face that she could see changing as he considered what to say.

"Yes." he sighed, defeated. "Yes, Christine, I do."

She was shocked that he admitted it so bluntly. But, biting her lip, she fought to continue. "I don't understand why."

"What?" Erik was truly confused. Christine took a deep breath.

"My dad used to tell me every day that I was worthless, ugly, disgusting, talentless. That I was never going to amount to anything. And he said no man in his right mind would ever love me."

Erik watched her. She seemed . . . embittered. He smiled slightly as he gained assurance and stood to his feet. "Well, then, it's a good thing I don't tend to fall into that category." Her brow furrowed. He found his smile growing. "Christine, you're beautiful. You're the most beautiful person I have ever had the honour of laying eyes on."

She shook her head. "No I'm not."

Vehemently, he insisted. "You are. And . . . and your voice! The way you . . . oh, just everything about you!" he sighed almost reminiscently. "Just looking at you makes me want to believe in a higher power!"

Christine blushed. "I don't believe you." she tried her best not to smile. "And I have to go and get ready for tonight."

"Christine." he said as she turned to go. She turned back and tilted her head. "May I . . . see you after the concert tonight?"

She grinned. "A second date?"

Erik frowned a bit then looked up at her expectantly. "Yes?"

"See you later."

She was gone before he could show his amazement.

**xxxx**

The concert, as always, went reasonably well. Christine seemed to be developing a sect of fangirls, who were not unnoticed by Carlotta, much to her own annoyance and chagrin. Meg and Christine smiled through the concert and when it came time for the _Our Farewell_ duet, Carlotta simply bristled as the ingénue walked nervously forward and pulled the microphone from its stand, offering a small smile to the crowd as if she was about to let them in on a secret.

Carlotta's smile was bigger, more dazzling, as she stepped forward to introduce the song. "This is not-a," she said, hiding her annoyance. "A song that your-a Carlotta wrote 'erself-a. It is also not one that your-a diva takes joy in . . . but dear little-a Christine _loves_ it-a!"

Christine seemed to be the only one to pick up on her bitterness. She ignored it and began singing. She fought to best Carlotta, to show her up and prove herself.

She was met with thunderous applause.

The rest of the concert passed and Christine was triumphant as she walked off the stage.

She smiled as she walked to Erik's office and knocked on the door.

They left the arena together. Erik smiled as Christine spoke and suddenly she stopped.

"You have such a lovely speaking voice, Maestro." she said slyly, trying to feign innocence. He frowned. "Do you ever sing, apart from in lessons?"

"No." he said, a little too sharply. Christine smiled.

"You have to promise to sing for me, one day."

Was she planning for the future? Erik felt confused. Did she actually intend upon pursuing . . . _something_ with him? Just the thought of that made him smile. He didn't deserve it. He'd done things no human should do.

"I promise." he said sincerely. Christine smiled and unashamedly grabbed his hand as they continued, too happy to notice the look of shock that passed the masked man's face.

**xxxx**

Tasha Skinner and her photographer were prowling the alleyways of the city, looking for politicians and celebrities to catch in the act. She smiled broadly as she saw a familiar head of curly brown hair.

"Pete!" she snapped, nudging the middle-aged photographer. He pulled his navy blue baseball cap from his eyes and looked up at her.

"_What?_" he replied sharply.

"Daaé! Come on, we'll get hundreds for a shot of her and . . . surely not de Chagny . . ." her voice trailed off as she ran a hand through her red bobbed hair and tried to identify Christine's companion.

"Nah, de Chagny's blonde and young. Who's that guy . . . ?"

Erik and Christine turned ever so slightly and Tasha nudged Pete again. "Get a few shots of them! C'mon!"

So the photographer did, with a yawn.

It seemed they had the front page shot for the next edition of OMG Magazine.

The writer and photographer shared a devious grin as they walked away.

**xxxx**

***falls on floor at muse's feet***

**I'm so sorry for using you! Please never leave me ever again! ;A;**

**. . . **

**Ohey, sane people. Sorry that my updates on everything have been so sporadic and crappy recently. For some reason holidays are a massive deterrent for writing. But, like, I have five weeks of school, then exams, then summer holidays (hey, just because I'm Australian.) and so I should write. Then again I was hoping to have the story done by exams.**

**Psssssssht, doubt it.**

**Anyway, this author's note is insanely long and pointless. And don't worry, it's not going to be smooth sailing for Erik and Christine for quite a while.**

**REVIEWS PLZTHX.**

**See you next time.**


	13. An Eventful Outing

**Another shamelessly long A/N tacked onto the end of the chapter. Only because I love you!**

**Also, sorry for the lovely people who put me on Author Alerts after I finished **_**Reverie**_** and are now getting spammed with this, expecting darkness and getting an ALW-Erik-so-harmless-he'd-think-twice-about-cutting-Raoul's-hair. I am terrible in that way!**

**There will be more Specteur soon, I promise!**

**Enjoy!**

**xxxx**

Christine had a spring in her step the next day. She smiled all the way to the bathroom and when she caught a look at herself in the mirror, she simply smiled more. As she got ready she felt that nothing could go wrong. Erik loved her – she wasn't sure yet if she felt the same, but it was still an overpowering feeling to know that a man cared so much about her.

Especially after her dad.

But she decided not to dwell on that as she busied herself getting ready for the concert and actually feeling excited. After, she thought, she could speak with Erik for hours if she so desired.

And she did.

There was a smile on her face as she left her small apartment that morning.

**xxxx**

Tasha Skinner wasn't exactly what somebody would call an opera fan. True, her beat was Christine Daaé – only famous because of her affiliations with rich, sexy businessmen – Raoul de Chagny, Carlotta, and the elusive Amadeus, but damn it she got results, no matter the cost. And there probably had been a few in her life. But she didn't care. All those celebrities were soulless anyway, drunk on power and fame. They didn't have to work for what they had anymore, it was just there.

For Tasha it was a battle every freaking day, to get the good stories, to get the right information, to have articles done by the end of the week. What did those singers have to do? They had to stand there and look pretty! Bloody prima donnas, Tasha hated every last one of them.

So, she decided, a devilish smirk overspreading her face, she'd ruin the lives of each and every one of those celebrities that hated her. She'd make their lives Hell.

She walked down the hall to her office with an idea brewing in her head.

**xxxx**

Erik felt a little more embarrassed watching Christine now that she _knew_ he was in love with her. He glanced away from the screen and scowled. He shouldn't be feeling like this. In past days he'd been a hardened criminal and now he was a music industry mogul – by the nature of his occupations, he wasn't supposed to _have_ feelings. Yet there he was with love in his heart, aching. He knew she didn't love him. She was wilfully spending time with her out of her own motives – what he could do for her career, his money perhaps . . .

Saint as she was, surely Christine didn't like him for _him_. That was his greatest fantasy, but he knew it was unattainable. He was a monster, he was barely even human . . . he quickly realised that she didn't know what was beneath his mask.

It made sense.

She probably just thought he was a normal – if eccentric – man. Christine, he thought, with a derisive chuckle, if only you knew.

She didn't though. She couldn't know. If ever she discovered what he hid under that thin veneer of porcelain, everything he had ever worked for would be for naught. If she knew why he hid, she would run and abandon him like everyone else he'd ever loved. No, no, he wouldn't let that happen, never.

His distracted mind ceased its painful reverie as he heard the first few notes of his beloved's song.

It seemed her applause got louder every time. He smiled with slight pride, but decided he couldn't be content with her being a back-up singer. He didn't care if she was using him; he wanted her to be famous. He wanted the world to know that voice . . .

But she would only sing for him.

Yes, she'd come to love it. She liked him, after all, didn't she?

He smiled.

**xxxx**

"_What, so you're dating him now?"_

It was Sunday morning and Christine was relaxed on her couch with the phone in her hand and a classical CD playing. She was talking to Raoul. Her plan was to go out with Erik later, in the daylight, because he had confessed ever-so-quietly that he hadn't been out in the daylight in _months_. Of course to Christine such a thing was inexcusable and she insisted that they go out. He had timorously accepted.

"Not dating him exactly." Christine said absently, sensing Raoul's imminent disapproval of this . . . _relationship_.

"_But you're not _just friends_?_"

"I don't think so." Christine sighed. She truly didn't know. The other evening had been great. Erik's biting sarcasm had amused her, and he was so careful – it was endearing, she thought, though she imagined it might grow to be . . . well, possessiveness. He made sure she was _perfectly_ comfortable and said most vehemently that he would escort her home. Then again, she didn't actually think that was excessive. Being alone in that city at night wasn't advisable for anyone, let alone a hot young singer.

"_So he's your semi-boyfriend?_" Raoul said, and he raised an eyebrow, thinking to himself and pressing the phone's receiver closer to his ear as if that might have some influence on the strength of his power over Christine.

Christine decided to lighten the mood a little. "Why, Raoul, jealous?"

She heard him pause. "_No,_" he replied stiffly. "_I just worry is all. I've seen guys hurt you before . . ._"

She groaned inwardly. "He loves me." Yes, that fact made her smile.

"_I know, I know. That doesn't mean he's incapable of hurting you all of a sudden._" Raoul reminded her levelly, and she had to agree. Her dad used to say he loved her, like that one time when he'd "accidentally" thrown her into the wall.

"Raoul, you said you'd trust me." Christine relaxed a little at her friend's sigh of resignation. "I'm a big girl."

"_I know. I just don't want all of this to happen again. Forgive me?_"

"Of course, Raoul."

"_I have to go, I have a meeting._" he paused and she felt the warmth of his smile without seeing him. "_I love you._"

"I love you too, Raoul." she said, and knew that they both understood that it was love of a different kind, the one that made you want to curl up under a blanket with that someone and talk.

Not the sort of love that Christine was developing for Erik.

Of course, she'd never admit that the few previous nights when she was sitting alone watching TV that certain masked man was all that she could think about. And worse – or better – she _knew_ that she had a chance with him. That was precisely what she was afraid of.

She let a grin overspread her face as she rested her head back and let the Beethoven on the CD player lull her to a deep state of relaxation that was almost sleep, enjoying the two or so hours left she had before she met Erik.

**xxxx**

Erik was standing in a shadow as Christine smiled and accepted his arm. He was nervous – people knew about the reclusive Mr Amadeus, people might approach and ask what was under his mask . . . he took a deep breath. It was fine. Everything was fine.

Until he spotted a magazine stand. There, clear as day, was a picture of he and Christine. Emblazoned proudly in garish red lettering was: "_The Elusive Mr Amadeus and the Hollywood Harlot Christine Daaé – Together At Last?_"

Anger bubbled deep within him but he knew he had to stay calm if he wished not to upset Christine.

He grabbed her arm harder, stopped, and gestured with not a little worry in his face to the picture. She glanced at it, looked away, then stared back with realisation. "Oh my God . . ." she muttered. "I- I'm . . ." She was about to say sorry, he could tell, and he was appalled. There for the world to see she was called a harlot because of his _stupid_ self and _she_ was apologising? What was the world coming to?

"Hush." he said, and it was more a command than a quiet syllable meant to soothe her. He took her hand and led her around the corner where – much to her surprise – a black car was waiting. Christine looked at Erik with fear and he frowned. "I- I'm just going to take you home . . . please."

Begrudgingly, she sighed and got in. He sat tentatively next to her.

"I don't see the big deal." she said quietly. "It's just one magazine. There's a million pictures of Raoul and I, and _everyone_ knows we're not together."

Christine tasted foot in her mouth a second later.

Erik wanted to snap that Tasha Skinner's neck. He looked vaguely hurt before resuming his mask of anger. "It's not the fact that _we_ were seen _together_. It's the fact that _I_ was seen at all!" he paused and she smiled sardonically.

"What, Erik, afraid that you'll break the veneer of your reclusive image?" she raised an eyebrow.

"You don't understand," he said flatly. "I can't explain _all_ of it, but in short . . ."

"The mask." she said quietly.

The following silence could have been cut with a knife.

Erik bit his malformed lip. "Well . . . _yes_, but . . . no, not at all."

Christine looked at him squarely for a second before asking gently, "Why do you wear it?"

He glared broodingly out the window, his masked face unseen – or more so than usual – to her. "W- well, Erik, I only say it because . . . it's only half your face, it doesn't exactly do much to obscure your identity."

"I will not tell you." he said.

This did nothing but light a fire of curiosity in Christine and she sat back in her seat, vowing to find out one way or another eventually.

**xxxx**

**A bit of angst? Finally. The fluff made me choke.**

**Yes, there will **_**eventually**_** be an unmasking scene of sorts. Just . . . not right noooow . . .**

**Rambling.**

**Hey, guess what, guys? Next year I'm seeing Love Never Dies, it's official now – my grandmother booked my ticket apparently. Because it comes to Australia next year. Yep. Aside from the elephant-in-the-room downside, there's also the fact that Ramin Karimloo apparently isn't gunna play the Phantom, and . . . Ramin Karimloo is the best thing since sliced bread.**

**So anyway, review me!**

**See you next time!**


	14. A Devious Plot

**I'm seeing Harry Potter 7 tonight. Woo being Australian! :D**

**Roses are red,  
Violets are blue,  
I don't own Phantom  
But neither do you!**

**Enjoy!**

**xxxx**

Christine had been thinking about Erik's mask a lot. Wondering why he wore it, if it could really be all that awful a secret . . . _what_ was he hiding? She sighed as she collapsed into bed later on Sunday. He'd been very cold on the way back to her apartment and when she reached for his hand, he pulled away. It had upset her to say the least and had done absolutely nothing to quell her curiosity. Maybe it was a terrible secret if he had to hide it so . . . vehemently.

She had decided that he had to find out, and when she'd left him that afternoon, a plan had been formulating in her head. Yes, it was devious, maybe a little mean-hearted . . . but damn it, she had to know. And she _knew_ it may have been a little manipulative to use his feelings to find it out . . . but she knew she'd never be able to see what he was hiding behind that damn mask otherwise.

She _had_ to know.

**xxxx**

She had asked. The one thing Erik had dreaded and feared and worried about, she had done. And now, he knew, she wouldn't be content with simply being told not to worry about it. She wouldn't be content until she knew.

And after she knew, she'd wish she hadn't done it.

He hoped to any benevolence in the universe that she wouldn't. She'd hate him if she saw.

"_Mr Amadeus?"_

Erik sighed, frustrated, and pressed a button. "It had better be important, Saleel."

"_Christine Daaé on the line, sir_."

He raised an eyebrow. In all truthfulness, he imagined that she didn't want to speak to him again. He kept thinking he had betrayed her, not the other way around, despite her demands of seeing his face. After all, didn't he deny her touch?

He had yet to decide whether her hatred of him was a good thing or not.

"Very well." he said calmly, the mention of her very name relaxing him.

"_Erik?_" Erik still paused and wondered at the sound of her voice; it was so sweet and flawless . . .

"Christine." he replied.

"_I'm sorry._"

He froze. "About what, my dear?"

Christine's heart leapt. It was a simple pet name, yet it made her face flush. "_A- about yesterday. I shouldn't have . . ._"

"I should have explained it in more detail."

"_But . . ._"

"But you will never know." he said it as level-headedly as he could. "I can't explain more than that." The contradiction made him want to hit himself.

"_I don't understand what the big deal is._" she said, and his fist clenched around the pen in his hand.

He took a steadying breath. This was dangerous territory. One foot wrong and it was the same as stepping on a landmine, everything being blown to pieces in a horrible explosion of fire and noise.

"Christine, forget about it." he said, setting his mouth in a determined line. "If you value your . . . your _friendship_ with me at all, forget about it, please."

Christine flushed. That's what he thought it was? _Friendship_? She didn't know much but she knew you didn't feel the way she did towards friends. She took a deep breath. "_Okay. But I hope you're not going to shut me out._"

Erik then did something that had been quite a foreign concept to him for a long time. "I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Christine, I . . . I didn't mean to hurt you."

She nodded. Remembering he couldn't see it she swallowed, trying to moisten her dry mouth. "_So when are we going to go out again?_"

Again she astounded him. "I don't know, my dear . . . I assume you're coming to the concert this evening? If you've any ambition at all I should continue your vocal lessons."

It was not lost on Erik that she replied _too_ quickly. "_Sounds great_."

"Christine, are you alright?"

"_Fine!"_ she chirped too brightly, arousing his suspicions. He frowned and his brow furrowed. This wasn't right. Something was out of place. But he decided to pay it no mind.

Perhaps that was one of the biggest mistakes he'd ever make.

"G- good. Well, shall I see you tonight?"

"_Sure, great, wonderful, bye!_"

She was gone.

Erik sighed. Something was very wrong and he felt an urgent need to find out what that something was.

**xxxx**

Fuming didn't exactly begin to describe just how the great Carlotta was feeling. That little _ingénue_ was trying to steal her spotlight from her. She would not allow it to happen, not after everything she'd worked for. And Christine Daaé was taking it all away. Carlotta was not ignorant to the fact that _her_ adoring fans were applauding louder and louder every time at the end of that cursed duet.

Carlotta smiled menacingly.

She was the diva, was she not? So she could easily have the song cut from the show . . . that would certainly solve a few irritating little curly haired problems. Her smile turned into a grin as she dialled Amadeus' private number. She heard his assistant answer and she said the masked man's name – it worked as somewhat of a password.

"_Right away, Ms Giudicelli."_ said the impresario's assistant.

She heard the exasperated sigh. A smile spread across her features.

"_What is it, Giudicelli?_"

"Your little-a . . . _protégée._"

Erik froze. "_What about her? I will allow no harm to come to one of my students, Giudicelli, let alone my- one of the youngest, most talented singers in my company._"

"No, no, no . . . no-a _ill will._" Erik scoffed. "I simply want her-a solo sections removed."

"_From the show?"_ Erik would have killed her had she been in the office.

"From-a _my_ show, Amadeeus."

Erik mumbled something, too enraged to form words.

"What was-a that, Amadeeus?"

"_I _said_ if you think you have any say in what is in the show, you will find yourself falling rather quickly from grace, Ms Giudicelli._" he tried to make his tone clipped, though he imagined he was sounding like a petulant child, not given what they want.

"Bah! You cannot get rid-a of-a _me_, Amadeeus!" she laughed confidently.

Erik sighed deeply. "_We shall see about that, Ms Giudicelli._" He heard her laugh again, that unpleasant noise that made his flesh crawl. "_Good day._"

Carlotta scowled unhappily as she slammed the phone receiver down.

**xxxx**

**So, I haven't updated in a while . . . **

**. . . I have a legit excuse! Don't shoot! I have a legit excuse!**

**Exams, yeah? I just finished year ten, go me! And next year I will be studying Arts, Humanities and Language subjects, nothing else. :3 **

**No, I am not being practical about planning for the future, at all. But at least I'll do well in year eleven and twelve. I hope. XD**

**So yesh, I'll update the other stories and this one a lot more regularly now, because I am officially on holidays. :D**

**Reviews, please.**

**See you next time.**


	15. Thank You For Dinner

**Hi, everyone! Sorry I haven't updated anything recently, but it's been a hectic few weeks, and I found out only about two days ago that I'm moving on the 20th of December. So, I've been packing and all such things . . .**

**Yet I thought Christmas holidays were meant to be relaxing. What is this? Anyways . . .**

**Enjoy!**

**xxxx**

_He was smiling, but he looked . . . scared. She frowned._

"_Please." she murmured almost inaudibly. He gave a resigned sigh._

"_Your hand." he said, extending his own._

"_M- my hand?"_

"_If you want to see so badly, my dear, I insist you do the honours yourself." he waited, hand outstretched, and she timorously placed her hand in his. He sighed with resignation, carefully placing their joined hands on the cold porcelain of the expressionless mask. She took a deep breath, steadying herself, and in one movement, pulled it from his face._

**xxxx**

Christine woke in a cold sweat. Her clammy hands brushed through her hair as she sat up, pulling her knees to her chest. "My God . . ." she muttered, an inexplicable sick feeling pulsing through her stomach. Glancing at the clock she saw it was a little past five a.m., and with a sigh she pushed back the covers, knowing she wouldn't get back to sleep. It was Tuesday morning; there were no concerts on Tuesdays. Erik had invited her to his house for dinner. She couldn't say she wasn't concerned. If her own thoughts were no indication, then she knew from her dream that something bad was under that mask. She tried to imagine what it could conceivably be . . . a really bad tribal tattoo?

She chuckled, glad at the joke that relieved her stress a little. Then again she thought it completely implausible that there was actually something wrong with Erik's face. He probably wore the mask to increase his popularity or the mystique of his public persona or _something_. Nobody wore masks to hide things. That was preposterous.

She sighed as she busied about the kitchen, making herself a cup of tea if only to occupy her hands. Now she couldn't exactly decide whether she was nervous for dinner, or whether it was what was under his mask. She was terrified, quietly, to find out. But at the same time the suspense was seriously affecting her ability to breathe. Attempting to calm herself she took a sip of the tea and sighed as the heat slid down her throat. She remembered that her father loved coffee and threw the pot on the ground when she made it wrong . . .

Christine shuddered.

It was now five thirty. She sighed. It was too early to be awake on her day off, but she tried to put the sick feeling in her stomach down to excitement. Because she knew that she liked Erik – kind of romantically, she guessed, seeing as she'd kissed him despite the instincts that would lead her to believe guys were jerks – Erik was different. He liked her back . . . _loved_ her even. Christine blushed involuntarily. No guy but Raoul had admitted to loving her in the past. And Raoul's love was usually not more than that of a brother. That was how she thought of him.

Except for that one kiss . . .

But that was beside the point.

Christine passed the day in a distracted reverie, thinking of Erik's breathtaking voice and breathless smile, wishing that it could be time for her to _leave_ already.

Not that it was that important or anything.

**xxxx**

Erik was pacing. It was the worst of his nervous habits – the hired help could _tell_ his emotions . . . he hated it.

_6:56 p.m._

Damn that clock! Why couldn't time move faster? Why couldn't Christine be early?

Maybe she wasn't coming.

That thought made him feel nauseous. He clasped his hands behind his back. No, no, that was silly, of course she was coming. There was still the horrible desert plateau of _at least_ four minutes before she was due to arrive. And she wouldn't be early, no, who would ever try to see _Erik_ more than they had to? Nobody would. Perhaps she'd be late.

_6:58 p.m._

Damn, damn, damn . . . what would happen if she walked in to find him looking like this? What did he look like for that matter? He went to the only mirror in the house – in the front hallway of course, because on the off chance somebody actually needed to enter his house he wanted to display some semblance of normality. With a sigh he looked into it. The self-loathing that wracked him every moment of every day washed over him in a wave. Nobody could ever love that face. Nobody loved a mask.

He tried to think logically. He tried to calmly adjust his wax-slicked hair – well, wig – to perfection, to make sure the mask wasn't skewed . . . he straightened his clothing and relaxed a little. His appearance was disgusting . . . those eyes, that pale white skin, the gaunt appearance, not to mention what actually lay underneath the mask . . .

Food had never been particularly appealing to him. He had grown quite used to the perpetual starvation, though a meal with Christine, talking, smiling, eating . . . he didn't think there were many more wonderful prospects. Turning triumphantly away from the mirror, he remembered that the reason Christine was coming was because she _liked_ him, maybe, perhaps, one day she'd love him . . .

Preposterous.

_7:02 p.m._

Damn it all to Hell, she was late! Had his musings really distracted him for those two crucial minutes? What if she was outside?

Erik rushed to the door and threw it open.

She was not there.

He sighed and closed it. Perhaps she wasn't coming, perhaps all his hope had been false and she hated him. It was perfectly logical. No beautiful young girl like that would ever have any kind of fondness for him. It was ridiculous. He simply couldn't be loved for himself, nobody could know that mask, let alone love what was underneath . . .

The doorbell rang.

_7:04 p.m._

He walked as slow as he could manage to the door and opened it, attempting to look composed. There she stood looking as relaxed as anything in a pretty blue dress. His heart froze in his chest as she smiled.

"Erik," she greeted him warmly, and the tension he'd felt was relieved ever-so-slightly. "How are you?"

"Good." he replied, adding silently that he didn't feel quite so unwell now that he was in her company. "And you, my dear?"

She gave a slight smile and walked into the house. "I'm okay . . ."

"Is something troubling you?" Erik asked quietly, his hands returning to their rather awkward place behind his back. She sighed and her smile fell as she unwrapped the red scarf from her neck and pulled off her jacket. Erik couldn't help but smile.

"No . . . n- not really, I mean, I'm okay, but . . . um, nothing." she suddenly smiled broadly. Erik raised his visible eyebrow, the faintest of doubt entering his mind, and led her to the dining room.

**xxxx**

It was a good meal. Christine tried to think of anything but how much she wanted to find out what Erik was hiding under that expressionless mask, but damn it her fingertips were itching. She tried to distract herself.

Erik was good company when she actually payed attention to what he was saying. He seemed to have lived quite an interesting life, though he seemed nervous telling her about it. Every few minutes, she couldn't help but notice the scowl on his face as he reached for his glass of wine. When they'd finished eating, Christine stood and collected her plate, but Erik swiftly held up a hand to detain her. She gave him a pointedly questioning look in reply.

"Honestly, my dear, you're a guest." he said, earnestly, "I don't expect you to a lift a finger. I _pay_ people for that."

"Oh." Christine breathed, looking admittedly quite sheepish. She noticed the smirk that crept across Erik's face but tried to think nothing of it. Suddenly she felt remarkably awkward.

"It's just that I thought perhaps I would be a better host if I entertained you myself." Erik said with a smile. "So . . . erm, well . . . I am a musician myself."

"Oh, really, _Maestro_? I wasn't aware." Christine replied, and it was her turn to smirk. Erik narrowed his eyes. Her smile broadened.

"And I was wondering if you might accept . . . well, a truce, I suppose. I was rather harsh on Sunday, and-"

"Harsh?" Christine scoffed and Erik gave her a disbelieving look. "Erik, harsh is . . ." she seemed to instantly lose the fire that had sparked in her blue eyes a moment before. "That wasn't harsh."

He smiled and brushed her cheek with the backs of his pale fingers. She blushed and turned her head. "In any case, Christine, you've only heard one of my compositions. I would be most delighted if you allowed me to play you another."

Thrilling at the odd but not unpleasant coolness of Erik's hand still lingering on her face, Christine nodded and he carefully led her to a rather expensive looking leather sofa and gestured for her to sit. She did and it was as he walked to the nearby piano that she realised perhaps now was her opportunity, perhaps as he was wrapped in the music that he loved so dearly, she could take off his mask for herself. She decided that sounded like a pretty flawless plan.

Well, come to think of it, there were probably a few glaringly obvious flaws . . . but she was going to do it anyway.

"Forgive me if it's not the most inspired writing." Erik said from the piano, not turning to face her. "But . . . I compose to keep myself sane."

Christine laughed nervously, unaware that Erik was completely serious.

"So . . . I- I hope you enjoy it."

With that, he began playing. Christine was, to say the least, shocked. The music was beautiful, sweeping, it floored her for a few moments before she remembered what she intended to do. Slowly she rose, admiring the passion obvious in every one of Erik's movements as he seemed to lose himself in the world of music, the fury, the delirium, that was exclusive to only him. Christine timorously reached out, thanking God that at the very least his eyes were closed. Her hand shook and faltered but still she felt the need to accomplish her task.

Without another moment's hesitation, she tore the mask from Erik's face.

**xxxx**

It was music, passion, beauty . . . he only wished Christine could know what he knew, see what he saw . . .

But suddenly it was over. The music died with a tragic discord as he heard the porcelain shatter against the nearby wall. His hand flew to his face in an attempt to hide his horrible deformity in the mask's place, but he'd already heard her whimper, already caught a glimpse of the shocked expression on her face.

He turned away from her and his spare hand balled into a fist so tight he felt the skin of his calloused palm tearing beneath his fingernails.

"Christine," his voice came out in a horrible growl and he hated himself. He heard her shifting, perhaps retreating – ah, but of course, he was after all a monster, and one could do nothing with a monster but run from him in horror. "Why?" his breathing was now ragged and he turned to face her, horror overspreading his malformed face. It felt so repulsive beneath his own hand, feeling every little flaw . . .

"E- Erik . . ."

"Silence!" he barked.

She looked down. She was on the sofa, and she curled her legs beneath her.

"Is it not enough for you that my every moment is devoted to thoughts of you? Need you know that the man who loves you is from the pts of _Hell?_ Do you think that because I wear a mask I am lying to you? Do you doubt my affections?" he turned again and felt stinging tears budding in the corners of his eyes. "Why? Couldn't you have been content thinking I was normal?"

"You . . ."

"Shut _up!_" Erik growled. "Now that you know I am ugly, I haven't any hope . . . no, you will never love me! I thought that perhaps you would . . . I thought I had a chance . . ." He strode past Christine to the wall where his shattered mask lay. He picked up a few shards of it, staring contemplatively at them, nicking his fingers on the jagged edges. He turned his head slightly and he felt her eyes burning into his deformity; he felt a wracking sob building up within him but he swallowed it. If Christine wanted to see him, then she could be subjected to the horror of his face. Who was he to deny her anything?

"Erik . . ." he heard her timid voice murmuring. He returned silently to picking up the pieces of the mask. "Please . . . I'm so sorry . . ."

He heard her getting up and could almost feel the warmth of her as she stood not two feet away from his crouching form. "I just . . ." she sighed. "It sounds stupid. But I just didn't want to . . . to _wonder_ what was beneath that mask. I had to know."

"You're right, my dear," Erik said, getting up and rushing past her, attempting to hide his face in the process, though that was quite a difficult task considering his handfuls of shattered porcelain. "That was ridiculously _stupid_ of you." Erik's voice was clogged with tears and he hated it.

He placed the mask on a small table and turned to her, one hand over half of his face. On the upside, his wig had stayed on and she did not know the extent of his hideousness . . . yet.

"Don't hide." Christine said, getting as close to Erik as she dared. "Please. I won't judge you. I promise."

Erik scoffed sardonically. "It is impossible _not_ to judge this face . . . I do not wear a mask because it's _fun_, Christine."

Christine shook her head. "Erik, believe me."

He stood stock-still.

Not exactly knowing what it was she wished to accomplish, Christine slowly approached him, placing one hand on Erik's shoulder and the other on top of the hand that feebly attempted to hide his . . . well, his _ugly_ face. She couldn't deny it. He looked down at her in disbelief as she craned her neck to kiss him.

Erik felt time stop. He would have been content if it never started again. He felt he was in a painful sort of Heaven. Christine's lips pressed to his, her hands upon him, and, the greatest bliss of all, it was happening while he was not wearing a mask . . . it was joy.

The kiss deepened. The hand covering Erik's face slowly let go and moved to Christine's cheek instead. His eyes drifted shut and he felt that this was Paradise . . . he wanted to die in that very moment, in this perfect embrace . . .

But Christine had broken away from him before he could properly savour the moment.

"I don't care." she said in a tiny voice, her face downturned, staring at her feet. "I don't care what you look like."

Erik sighed. "Yet you will not look at me."

"No. Funny, isn't it?" Christine's face drifted into a half smile.

"Ha, ha, ha." Erik replied sarcastically, unable to refrain from rolling his eyes. Christine shook her head.

"I should go." she whispered. She glanced up and once again Erik's hand flew to his face. She smiled and briefly kissed his misshapen lips. "Thank you for dinner." Christine said. "If nothing else it's certainly among the most memorable of dates for me."

Erik felt a few more tears coursing over his face as she left. The thought of a good stiff drink had never seemed more appealing.

**xxxx**

**Ending the chapter with drunk Erik. What on God's green earth is wrong with me?**

**Okay, so, that's probably the least detailed unmasking scene I've ever done. Probably because it doesn't really count. There'll be a proper one later. And . . . I thought it's a little bit meh. So reviews, as always, are greatly appreciated.**

**I don't really have a lot to say now. Um . . . this is the longest chapter of this fic by far. So, hopefully I didn't bore you! **

**See you next time!**


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